Is it Life or Art?
by lilac-bramble
Summary: AU KakuHidan set against the tempestuous backdrop of the London art scene... Kakuzu is an investment banker with an extensive collection and a difficult past, Hidan is a notoriously troubled life model about to move into the world of fashion.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N While I was struggling with chapter 6 of An Affair of the Heart, I unexpectedly came up with this... so I hope it will keep everyone going who's been waiting for an update...**

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Kakuzu looked at the flyer on his desk. It was printed on thick, high quality card and showed part of the face of a young man - semi-transparent, bright and transient looking as it faded or fragmented into a dark background of charcoal lines. Along the bottom edge ran the words 'Akatsuki Gallery' in modest sans serif capitals. Along the top, 'Exploding The Myth,' and the artist's name. Deidara. Kakuzu knew him fairly well by now. He'd first spotted his work at his degree show when he graduated from Chelsea, and had kept an eye on his shows while he was doing his MA at the Royal College. He owned several of his earlier works - from back when it was actually possible to stabilise them. Now Deidara, as he'd predicted, was really hitting the big time. He was being shown internationally, and his work featured in a lot of major collections. He'd won the Jerwood drawing Prize last year with a drawing made out of ash which had disintegrated entirely (and fortuitously) on the last day of the exhibition. Kakuzu personally thought that was luck, but Deidara had refused to make any but the most ambiguous comment.

It had been at his MA show that Kakuzu had been introduced to him - it turned out that Sasori no Akasuna, another artist whose works featured in Kakuzu's collection, knew him well. He'd been a visiting lecturer on Deidara's degree, and they'd got on very well and kept in touch, despite being absolute polar opposites in most people's opinions. Kakuzu and Sasori had gone round the MA shows together that year - he found Sasori's company restful and his eye discerning, and Deidara was one young artist that he'd insisted on introducing.

Akatsuki Gallery was just off Hoxton Square - it was a commercial gallery, but with a reputation for showing exciting new artists. Kakuzu knew Konan, the gallery's manager, quite well by now. He was a personal friend as well as a valued customer, inasmuch as he allowed himself to become truly personal with anyone these days. He'd never met the gallery's owner, Nagato Pein, in person, but this was not surprising - the man was famously reclusive, to the extent that all his business was conducted by a series of smooth blond secretaries and personal assistants. (Kakuzu did handle quite a few of his investments, though, through the medium of the go-between always introduced as 'Mr. Pein's financial secretary'). Kakuzu himself was also one of the gallery's shareholders.

But none of these things explained the excited buzz he felt about attending this particular opening, nor did they explain why the card had lain on his desk since it had arrived a week ago, despite the date having been in his diary for the last month. Kakuzu ran his thumb down the edge of the card, then flipped it over. Just the normal information - a tiny section of map, showing how to get from Old Street tube station to the gallery, the gallery's address. _Akatsuki Gallery invites you to attend the opening_ _of_ ... Kakuzu let his eyes skim over the text that he already had by heart, simply by virtue of looking at the card so many times. _New work by internationally acclaimed artist_... _ground-breaking... burst explosively onto the scene..._ same old, same old. Kakuzu sighed.

He propped the card up at the back of his keyboard, resting it against his computer screen, and calmly regarded it, trying to logically work out what in that face had captivated him. Certainly, it was a handsome face, but Kakuzu had seen a lot of handsome faces. None of them had ever made him feel this degree of fascination. He couldn't ever recall an image making him want to see its subject quite this badly. Which was why when Konan had called him yesterday asking if he wanted to see the show privately that evening (along with herself and 'Mr. Pein's social secretary'), since she knew that the loud and vacuous atmosphere of a Private View wasn't really his thing - though God knows, he attended enough of them - he'd declined, citing a previous engagement. 'I'll brave the PV,' he'd said 'I'm sure it'll be worthwhile.'

And he was sure it would, even though he might have missed a chance to make some advantageous early purchases. A vast amount of art world contacts and alliances were formed at Private Views, after all. People were having fun, they were open and suggestible. A lot of Deidara's recent work had centred around this man - Hidan, Dei had said his name was, (Kakuzu hadn't been able to keep the syllables out of his head since he first heard them) - and he was bound to be at the opening night. Kakuzu had heard quite a bit about him, one way or another. Sasori had worked with him too and had provided a bit of toned-down gossip. (The 'People' column in the Times had also been quite informative...). It seemed that Hidan was in the process of becoming distinctly notorious and had recently gone from being a very sought after life model - sought after, apparently, because he'd do anything, and could hold the most bizarre positions for fantastic lengths of time - to being a definite personality in his own right, a muse for several eminent artists, and being courted by the world of couture. He still did life modelling, apparently he said it was more satisfying, but was said to have recently signed a very lucrative deal with Comme des Garçons. He was reputed to be a paparazzo's dream - an aggressive, foul-mouthed bad boy who also happened to be part of some crazy cult that fetishized self harm. He was invited everywhere, and you could count on him attending for the free booze. He was, in fact, publicity incarnate, which was why no-one minded that he nearly always caused some kind of scene.

Really, just the opposite of Kakuzu. He sighed, and looked at the time. It was already 6.15 and he had another client to see, who he'd had to reschedule after an earlier meeting over-ran. He wasn't going to be able to go home after all, as he'd planned, and he certainly wouldn't make the gallery by 6.30 - not, of course, that he would want to - most people probably wouldn't arrive until a little later. Still, he could shower and change here - he always kept a change of clothes in his office, just for circumstances like these.

Kakuzu was an investment banker, but he hadn't always been. Kakuzu in his youth had been passionate, creative and idealistic - it felt like a long time ago now. He'd trained in medicine, and wanted to become a surgeon. He'd been among the most brilliant students in his year, and destined for the top of his profession until, as an over-worked junior doctor, something had gone wrong with one of his patients. Kakuzu still wasn't sure if anything he'd done differently could have saved Shodai Hokage. But it was then that he'd seen a nastier, darker side of the NHS. The scapegoating, the colleagues he'd thought were friends as well turning their backs on him. The registrar who should've been there to back him up disclaiming all responsibility... Even now, years later, Kakuzu mouth tightened and his fists clenched at the bitter memories. He cursed himself for letting the poisoned thoughts flow out into the comfortable world he'd built for himself. He felt a echo of that feeling now - all the desire to make things better, to make ground-breaking advances in heart surgery, to help people, just flooding out of him. He'd wanted no part of it anymore. He'd abandoned the medical profession, done a law conversion, then got a job in the City.

The soulless City - Kakuzu smiled wryly - that was what people thought, that he'd sold out, lost his integrity, his heart. But strangely enough, the City - the beating heart of London's financial industry - had felt like a balm to his lacerated feelings. He was good at it - both the work and the world it created - and had risen quickly. In a few years he was an investment banker with an indecent bonus, and a reputation for his mystic calm and relaxed air on the trading floor. If he'd ever felt the need to explain himself to anyone, he might've said that after his senior postgraduate year in one of London's most overloaded hospitals, he wasn't going to lose his cool over the fluctuations of the stock market. But Kakuzu didn't explain himself. He didn't tend to let himself get very close to people now. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he didn't feel the urge to.

It had been at around that time that he'd started to invest in art, and gradually he'd taken over the directorship of his bank's art investment portfolio. It had begun as an interesting sideline which didn't really feel like work, but now he was probably the most influential Art Investment Fund Manager in the country. He'd built up his own collection alongside and liked to think his own was the more daring and varied of the two - after all, he was willing to buy things the bank viewed as a little too wild. His eyes flicked over the four tribal masks that hung on the wall opposite his desk. They'd been his first acquisitions, and kept an established place in his heart. Just now, the pinkish evening sunlight was bringing out their deep colours, emphasising their richness and the strange features of their grimacing faces.

Bringing himself back to the present with a little shake of his head, Kakuzu buzzed through to his secretary and told her to send in his client. He put the invitation face down on the desk - he didn't want that face breaking his concentration. As he did so he thought he saw an expression of sadness - or no, more specifically, woundedness - in the young man's curious reddish violet eyes, but perhaps it was just a trick of the light as the card flexed in his hand. He didn't turn it over again for a closer look. He had more self control than that.

Turning his mind back to the matter at hand as the door opened, he rose and walked around the desk to greet his client, projecting, as always, an air of absolute calm and confidence.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, Kakuzu didn't arrive at the Private View until about half past eight. Darkness was just falling when he emerged from the tube station, and suddenly it didn't feel like a nice evening out, it felt like time to go home. Kakuzu felt tired, and even briefly considered getting back on the Northern Line and letting it bear him away to his home in Hampstead. But it was a warm evening, and as he walked along Old Street towards Hoxton Square the sounds of people on their way out for the evening and even the sounds of Northbound traffic taking people home and the other lane taking heading South into the centre began to gradually seduce him into a brighter frame of mind. He smiled a small, private smile. After all, he _was_ on his way to one of the most happening scenes in town. Akatsuki Gallery was the place to be tonight, that could not be denied. For a moment it almost made Kakuzu feel that he could be young and idealistic again.

As soon as he turned off Old Street into Rufus Street Kakuzu could hear the noise of the Private View emanating from Akatsuki Gallery's doors. There were a few little groups of smokers outside as well, holding glasses of wine, some leaning against the plate glass windows, others squatting on the pavement or sitting on the wide granite kerb. Kakuzu recognised an artist who he owned a quite a few pieces by - Sarutobi Asuma. He'd been thinking of selling them, actually. Yes, he certainly wouldn't be keeping them much longer. They would fetch quite a price right now, and Kakuzu wasn't really very keen on them anymore. Of course, when you were as influential in the art world as Kakuzu, if you sold up your collection of an artist's work, that would dramatically reduce the work's value. The artist was going to see a big drop both in their sales and the prices they could command. A lot of collectors who bought for investment would swiftly follow Kakuzu's example. Asuma's reputation would probably not recover, given that the work he was making now seemed to be not particularly exciting, but that wasn't a consideration that Kakuzu would allow to sway him. Not where business was concerned.

Asuma was surrounded by an eager gaggle of students - he did a lot of teaching these days. A sure sign to Kakuzu that he'd gone off the boil. He nodded curtly as he caught Asuma's eye. A pretty dark haired woman he thought he recognised as Asuma's girlfriend was talking animatedly with a friend on the other side of the doorway. She wasn't drinking, and Kakuzu could tell at a glance that she was in the early stages of pregnancy. All the more reason to drop the guy, he considered. Soon enough he'd be surrounded by toddlers and students and not making work at all.

His head full of happy plans for lucrative business deals, Kakuzu walked through the door and a blast of noise and heat hit him. It seemed that most people were pretty sloshed already. The place was rammed, the buzz of talk constant and high level. He recognised a high proportion of the crowd, and thought a lot of them must recognise him as well. At a glance he could pick out three critics and twice as many gallery owners, as well as a lot of artists, both established and up and coming. A couple of his own clients were there too. People had already been buying - there were red dots beside quite a number of the works - and that was quite something at this show. Since the artist was Deidara, without taking serious stabilising measures none of the pieces could be expected to last more than a year at most.

Kakuzu felt calm, and in his element. His senses felt sharpened and he felt almost predatory as he glanced quickly around to see if he could spot the face that had been distracting him all afternoon. He was about six inches taller than most people there, but in the crowded room he couldn't see him anywhere. What _did_ catch his eye was the film piece - notorious already - that the image on the invitation was taken from. Film wasn't normally a medium that interested Kakuzu much, but it acted like a magnet on him now. The film was rumoured to be designed to last the length of the exhibition, and no more. Kakuzu knew this wasn't strictly true - Dei refused to be specific about the lifespan of his works and he'd told Kakuzu that he'd never worked with this type of film before, so he really had no idea. 'It'll last as long as it lasts, un,' he'd said cryptically. 'And hopefully it'll last in people's minds for a bit longer after that.'

Deidara had got the tape that it was filmed on from his friend Zetsu, an environmentalist film maker trying (quite insanely in Kakuzu's opinion) to find a greener way to record. It was apparently made from potato starch, and it degraded rapidly as the film ran, the images seeming to crack and then peel and melt away.

Kakuzu made his way slowly through the crowd towards it. It was running on two old-school reel to reel projectors, and Kakuzu could see now that what was in fact happening was that the was biodegradable film was darkening in the heat from the lamps, becoming more opaque and letting less light through. It did it unevenly, first fragmenting the image with cracks and fissures, from which darkness would slowly bleed out. It was actually very cleverly done. The film was in two parts, or layers - one of live action of the model, and another of exactly the same events, animated darkly and expressively in charcoal. This, being naturally darker, didn't show up on the wall until the the brighter film was blacked out. Gradually, the animation would replace the live action entirely, before it faded into obscurity itself.

Kakuzu had seen some of the drawings for the animation part already, when he'd last visited Deidara's studio, and they'd fascinated him. They were deep textured and full of history, as the the whole thing was animated using just a couple of drawings, working into them and rubbing bits away, shifting the charcoal around. Until tonight he hadn't seen any of the live action. One flickering glimpse was all it took to get him hooked now.

Unmindful of the other people trying to watch it - or really, he thought, talking loudly about it while not really watching it properly, and posing and trying to look cultured - he shouldered his way inexorably to the prime viewing position. Already the film was deteriorating, and each time it played more and more of the information would be lost, and more of the animation that ran underneath it would be revealed. The same events, but in so many ways not at all the same. It was clever, Kakuzu had to admit, although it could never be considered an investment for a buyer. The animation was degrading at a slower rate - Kakuzu wasn't sure how.

He watched, enthralled, as the beautiful and somehow incredibly alive looking young man, lying naked in some sort of cult symbol, sliced into one wrist, then the other, and watched intently as blood trickled down his arm. He seemed in ecstasy. This bit of the film looked as though it might have been rewound and played again several times - it was more eroded looking - you kept getting glimpses into the dark, monochrome world of the charcoal.

Kakuzu watched until the film had looped back around to where it had been when he came in before moving away from the projection and making his way, feeling a little dazed, to the refreshment table. He felt could use a drink, after the day he'd had, and the openings at Akatsuki Gallery always had reasonably good wine. He was also hungry and hoped there'd still be some food left. He felt absurdly celebratory - maybe it was just the party atmosphere after a day at the office, but it was probably also the bright glimpses of that beautiful body in the film. He hadn't intended to watch for so long, but each glimpse left him yearning for the next. And - he had to give Deidara this - he had felt that if he didn't see it now, if he came back to watch it the next day, so much might be lost forever.

People's reactions to this film had been so extreme. It was controversial because it was seen as glorifying, or even recommending, self harm. But it didn't seem that way to Kakuzu. It seemed like something very personal. Particular to the one person doing it. And it didn't seem like he was harming himself, somehow, he mused. It seemed to make him more perfect. More whole. He hadn't exactly liked watching it. Several times he'd wanted to look away, and found that he just couldn't.

Lost in his musings, he almost walked into Konan, who seemed to run these events almost single handed. He just managed to stop himself in time, but couldn't then avoid the social air kissing. It always irritated him, but it was just something that went hand in hand with the art scene. You had to be really on the ball if you didn't want to do it.

'Fantastic show, Konan,' he said, avoiding any actual contact as he kissed back at her. 'Really buzzing. I haven't had time to look round yet - I got sucked into watching that remarkable film - but I can see that a lot has sold.' It came to him then that, of course, Konan would've filmed the film for posterity. Deidara would be pissed, but that was the art world for you, again. One day there'd probably be a retrospective on Dei, and they'd have to call it 'Fragments', or 'Traces', because there'd be nothing left. 'As the Dust Settles', perhaps. A bit more poetic. Or 'After the Event' maybe.

'Get yourself a glass of wine, Kakuzu,' Konan smiled, misinterpreting his zoned expression. 'You look like you've had a hard day. I'm not sure you'll be able to see much tonight - no-one ever looks at the work at the Private View - they're here to be seen rather than to see, I think. I'm impressed you even managed to get through to the film!'

Kakuzu laughed and moved on as Konan was claimed by a couple of Mr. Pein's smooth blond secretaries. Taking a glass of red wine and a miniature quiche, he moved around to the side of the refreshment table to eat it. And found himself next to a young man who was cramming his mouth with vol-au-vents and still somehow managing to look sexy. Hidan. It was Hidan. Even if he hadn't just watched him self harm for half an hour on film Kakuzu would have recognised him at once.

Not seeming to notice Kakuzu, he bit into another canapé, then nearly choked. 'What the _fuck_,' he gasped, accepting the paper napkin Kakuzu silently handed to him and spitting out his mouthful into it, 'is with this fucking vol-au-vent! That is not cool, man, seriously.'

Now he turned to look at Kakuzu properly, fixing him with intense purple eyes, closer to brown than blue. 'Seriously, check under the lids before you eat them, man. Some of them are fucking _cheese. _It'sfucking_ Stilton_, or something_. _They're fucking booby-trapped. Seriously, they should have a fucking warning on them.'

'I quite like Stilton,' Kakuzu said amiably. Hidan looked at him in awe.

'Dude,' he said. 'Hardcore.' He deposited the napkin in the pot of a banana plant that stood in the corner.

Kakuzu smiled. 'Let me get you a drink,' he said. 'Something to take the taste away...' It was no problem to get one then and there. He was tall enough to reach over and grab a glass of red wine without even moving around the table. Probably Hidan had already had more than enough to drink, but Kakuzu needed a conversation starter.

Hidan accepted the glass with easy grace, and drained a third of it in one gulp. 'Thanks, man, that's better,' he said.

Kakuzu couldn't quite take his eyes off him. He was obviously on his way to being fairly smashed already, but he seemed in his element, as though off his face was his natural state. It suited him. 'No problem,' he said.

Hidan tipped his head back and regarded him quizzically. 'So,' he said, 'Who're you? Don't get me wrong, but you don't seem quite like the normal sort of arseholes who come to these events.' He held out his hand. 'I'm Hidan.'

'Kakuzu,' said Kakuzu, shaking it firmly. They both held on a little longer than was necessary. Kakuzu did it out of habit because it was a technique he often used at work to intimidate businessmen he was making deals with. Hidan, perhaps just because in his current condition it took him a moment to remember to let go. 'And you're right,' Kakuzu continued, unfazed, 'I'm not really one of the art crowd. I'm an investment banker.'

Kakuzu was used to people in the art world finding his profession amusing, but Hidan laughed far more than he would've expected. 'Dude, that's hilarious,' he said, shaking with mirth and nearly spilling his wine. 'A banker, no way!'

It was at this moment that they were joined by Deidara. 'Don't misrepresent yourself, Kakuzu, un,' he said, then turned to Hidan. 'He's a major collector in his own right, and he decides what art pieces his bank buys as investment. Don't you, un?'

'It doesn't make me one of the art crowd.' Kakuzu replied.

'Why wouldn't you want to be one of the art crowd, un? I don't see why you're trying to distance yourself from us, un.'

'Cause you're a load of pretentious cocksuckers, seriously.' Hidan cut in, gesturing theatrically across the room. 'Just take a look at these fucking pricks! They're all fucking talking bullshit out of their fucking arseholes.'

'Yeah, un, I can't disagree with that, un.' Deidara lowered his voice conspiratorially. 'Given that I actually came over here to hide for a moment. That fucking Uchiha Itachi just came in, and I can't fucking stand him, un.'

'I thought he reviewed your last show very favourably.' said Kakuzu, surprised. He got on fairly well with Itachi - he was a very eminent art critic and historian and Kakuzu often read his reviews. Some of them were even printed in the Financial Times.

Deidara sneered from behind his curtain of hair. 'Yeah, un, he reviews me favourably alright. But it's always like he's _bestowing_ the favour, un? He's just so up his tight little arse - he's fucking patronising, un.' He shook his head with a world-weary sigh.

'Hey, cheer the fuck up, Dei!' said Hidan. 'It's your party! You need another drink!'

'Ah, Hidan, man, Sasori's been going on at me again for getting wasted at my own shows...'

'Fuck that, man!' Hidan's voice rose in indignation at the very thought of not getting wasted at your own show. 'Hey, this guy has the reach of a fucking, I don't know, giraffe or something. He can get you a glass of wine from here!'

'Ah, go on then, un.' Deidara gave in immediately. 'Can you reach the white, un?'

Kakuzu obviously had a new party trick. He found he could reach the white, just, and did so. 'Congratulations, Deidara,' he said as he handed him the glass. 'What a night. You've really arrived.'

'It's going well, un. Everybody came...' Deidara scanned the room with a satisfied air, then turned back to Hidan and Kakuzu. 'So, you guys know each other? That's nice, un.'

'No,' said Kakuzu, just as Hidan said 'Yes'. Hidan turned wounded eyes on him.

'I fucking know what kind of cheese you like, and everything! Why are you trying to distance yourself from me, dude?'

'You have the advantage of me.' Kakuzu retorted. 'I only know what kind of cheese you _don't_ like.'

'Cool,' said Hidan. 'Fair point. I like Edam.'

'Good to know.' What was it about this inane, profane conversation that had Kakuzu so utterly hooked? He liked to think of himself as a man of taste. This man was. Well. The word blingy sprang to mind, for one thing. That medallion... or was it a pendant? Kakuzu didn't really approve of jewellery on men, so the terminology was slightly foreign to him. And did he really have to have his shirt unbuttoned quite so low? Kakuzu's eyes kept being drawn downwards...

'Guys, hide me, un,' Deidara voice broke in on his reverie, making him realise he must have been staring at Hidan rather longer than was usual - and the man was smirking, damn him. 'Itachi's looking over.' Kakuzu and Hidan closed ranks in front of him, moving as one. 'Fuck, his eyes are freaky.'

Hidan turned around and stared rudely. 'Do you think he's insomniac or something?'

'Dunno, un,' Deidara replied. 'Sasori's little cousin or whatever is, though. He's here somewhere, you could compare them.'

'I don't know if I can be fucked, man,' said Hidan. 'That's more your bag than mine, comparing shit.' He turned to Kakuzu, who had been observing the pair of them with silent amusement, though keeping his face absolutely deadpan. 'Yo, Kakuzu, man, could you get me another...' he waved his empty glass at him.

'Red again?' Kakuzu asked.

'Why the fuck not.'

'Well, I reckon I'm refreshed enough to head back out into the fray.' Deidara placed his empty glass next to the vol-au-vents. 'Hey, Hidan, un,' he added suddenly, 'Don't forget you're sitting for me tomorrow at ten, un.'

'Fuck,' said Hidan, his face going blank with horror, 'Fuck! Why the hell did we schedule a sitting for the morning after the PV? Want to make it eleven, instead?'

'Because I'm going to Berlin on Saturday, un, and I need to put the final touches on the cast for the sugar sculptures, or it won't be ready by the time I get back, un.'

'Well, fuck me, man, the fucking sugar sculptures - how could I forget!' Hidan's face assumed an expression of disgust. 'Remind me one day why the fuck you want to make sugar clones of me anyway... So eleven's alright then, is it?'

'Yeah, alright, un, eleven it is then.' Deidara sighed resignedly, turning to head back out into the room, then added, 'And I was thinking of making a series of sculptures out of shit next - that might suit you more, un.'

'Yeah, well, most of your sculptures are fucking shit, in my opinion, arsehole,'

'Yeah, so, I'd probably better go and schmooze, see you guys.' Deidara made a hasty exit as Hidan stepped threateningly towards him, waving a canapé dangerously. He was immediately whisked back into the thick of the social whirl - they heard him say 'Well, it's about the transience of the now, un, it's not about preserving the past,' in the generic tone of a misunderstood genius explaining the obvious, before his voice was swallowed up into the general babble.

Hidan relaxed his aggressive stance and looked down at what was now a rather unappetising piece of puff pastry in his hand. He seemed slightly lost.

'You'll make yourself sick if you eat any more of those,' said Kakuzu.

'Alright, Grandad.' Hidan peeled back the lid, then threw the vol-au-vent back on the plate with a disgusted sneer. 'I think I already ate all the good ones, anyway,' he said. He chugged back some wine defiantly, somehow looking slightly forlorn at the same time.

Kakuzu watched him curiously. Hidan could flip from charming to offensive to aggressive and back again so quickly. He could see how this would pan out. Hidan, alienated by the pretentious art crowd, would get more and more frustrated and resentful, would get completely off his face in the corner, then pick a fight with someone, cause a scene (possibly a riot if enough students were involved), and the gawping crowd, simultaneously fascinated and censorious, would get their money's worth from him. Kakuzu found he didn't want them to get that satisfaction, tonight. In fact, he resolved to make sure it didn't happen. He felt an emotion surface within him that he hadn't felt in a very long time. He was surprised at himself - over a guy he'd only just met, who, moreover, had terrible manners and with whom he had nothing in common, Kakuzu was actually feeling protective.


	3. Chapter 3

Bee-be-be-beep, bee-be-be-beep, bee-be-be-beep, bee-be-be-beep, went Hidan's phone at ten o'clock the next morning. 'Fuck,' he moaned, hiding his head under his pillow and screwing up his eyes against the light. His head was pounding unmercifully and he had one of those full-body hangovers he'd come to associate with red wine. His limbs felt heavy, the pit of his stomach was at once leaden and distinctly unsettled, and as soon as he tried to move his head swam and a wave of nausea sent him crashing back onto the bed. '_Fuck_,' he moaned again. 'Why'd I fucking do it again? Why?'

Eyes still three-quarters shut, he groped wildly and inaccurately on his bedside table, dislodging a glass of water and his bedside lamp before grasping his phone and quieting its incessant peeping by sliding off the battery. Sighing with a small measure of relief, he groped a little more until his fingertips met the cold metal of his Jashin rosary. Bringing it to his mouth and shutting his eyes again, he murmured softly to it, soothing himself, able for a moment to separate himself from the reality of his aching body and the need to be out of the door in half an hour. It calmed him, the constant presence of Jashin, always someone to speak to, someone with needs that had to be met, someone demanding, sure, but they were always demands that made sense to him.

Sighing again, deeply, Hidan dragged himself over the edge of the bed and knelt on the floor, his face still buried in the duvet. He picked up the glass that lay on the floor and forlornly drained the last drops from it. This made him realise that his need for water was pressing enough that he would have to immediately undertake the intolerably long journey through the door and across his open plan living room to the bathroom. His head pounded with every step. Leaving the door wide open, he drank straight from the tap, then splashed cold water over his face. He blinked at himself in the mirror, and ruffled his hair absentmindedly. He couldn't really remember much of the later events from last night. He was willing to bet that Dei would be disgustingly chipper - probably been in his studio since nine. He didn't seem to be a martyr to hangovers the way Hidan was. Maybe because he drank white wine...

Hidan stopped trying to think and got into the shower. As soon as the water was the right temperature, he crouched down, leaning against the tiles, and just let it rain down on him. He could spend hours like this. He loved hot water, and the steamy atmosphere. He shut his eyes and turned his face up into the downpour, imagining he was in some fantastical utopian place where the rain could be this temperature. He didn't want to move and ruin the illusion, but he was conscious that he couldn't stay in nearly as long as he'd like this morning. He was cutting it rather fine anyway. He reached for his citrus bodywash, relishing the exotic smell it released.

It was twenty past by the time he emerged into the living room, a maroon towel around his waist. 'Shit,' he muttered. He padded over to the fridge and drank some pineapple juice straight from the carton, then wandered back into his bedroom to find some clothes. He really needed to get a wash in, but it wasn't as if he'd be wearing the clothes for very long... Looking out of the window he saw that it wasn't a very nice day - it was grey and drizzly - the opposite of yesterday evening with all that warm late sunshine. Hidan hated that kind of weather. He decided he'd take the tube, rather than cycle. Still, he didn't feel the cold very much. He pulled on a clean T-shirt and the black jeans from yesterday, and grabbed his leather jacket from where he'd slung it over the back of a chair last night. He massaged a good sized blob of Nivea Man aftershave balm into his face, although he hadn't bothered to shave, and rubbed his hair again in the towel, then slicked it back with gel. He began to feel more human.

Back at the fridge he poured himself a bowl of Coco Pops, which he always found very comforting hangover food. Crunchy Nut Cornflakes were nowhere close. Hidan couldn't resist buying Kellogg's Variety Packs, and consequently had a large collection of miniature packets of Rice Crispies and Corn Flakes. He ate them (liberally sprinkled with sugar) only in desperation when he was out of everything else. Glancing again at the clock, he found he was already five minutes late. He just couldn't motivate himself to hurry, though, and he gave himself a moment to savour the chocolate flavoured milk before hunting down his dressing gown (the only tool of the life model's trade), making sure his Oyster card was still in his pocket and making for the door.

* * *

Kakuzu's morning had progressed very differently. His alarm had gone off at 6.30. He liked to pretend that it didn't hurt, but in reality the incessant beeping invading his dreams and then dragging his unwilling consciousness into the cruel grey dawn was less than welcome. But Kakuzu was a disciplined man. He got up without groaning into his pillow more than once, and, pulling on the first clothes that came to hand, headed downstairs to give his dogs their pre-breakfast run on the Heath.

It was pre-breakfast for them, anyway. Kakuzu grabbed a banana for himself as he picked up his keys from the kitchen table - why had he put them in the fruit bowl last night? He must have had more to drink than he'd thought - and headed for the door, whistling for the dogs to follow. They were Giant Schnauzers. Kakuzu had four of them. He liked to claim they were guard dogs, and certainly they were good at that. They were exceptionally well trained - of course, as they were trained by Kakuzu. His five storey Georgian house did contain a lot of valuable items - mostly works of art and antiques. Kakuzu also liked to walk on the Heath at night, and four huge black dogs pretty much ensured that no-one would trouble him. Although in fact he wouldn't have been afraid to go without them, but that might perhaps have been unwise. But really, they were company. Company without human faults and human demands.

Turning out of his gate he immediately felt better. The cool morning air was refreshing on his face, and the moisture in the air - no more than scotch mist - dispelled the threat of a headache that had been hanging over him. The dogs' enthusiasm began to infect him and the day seemed more promising.

Not many people were about this early, but a couple of houses down he spotted his neighbour Kisame, putting out his recycling, which was clinking merrily. 'Morning, Kisame,' Kakuzu called out.

Kisame, who had had his face turned up, relishing the dampness in the air, raised a hand in greeting. 'Hi, Kakuzu. Lovely fresh morning, isn't it?' He breathed in deeply.

'It's certainly _re_freshing, after a late night,' Kakuzu agreed.

'Oh, you were at the show last night?' Kisame perched on his gatepost expectantly as Kakuzu drew level with him and paused, the dogs waiting obediently. 'And how did it go? Did you run into Itachi?'

Kisame was an magazine editor, working for Madara Uchiha. Itachi's pieces were often featured in his magazines. Kisame and Itachi were good friends. Kakuzu knew they sometimes went hill walking together at the weekends. Kisame was quite aggressively outdoorsy and was out of London one way or another pretty much every weekend. He would even drive down to Cornwall to go surfing. He had a van, and he would get as far as he could on a Friday evening and sleep in it if he got tired. Kakuzu thought that was insane, and possibly Itachi did too, as when Kisame and Itachi went walking in the Black Mountains they took the train instead. Kisame had actually asked Kakuzu a couple of times if he'd like to join them, but so far nothing had come of it.

'It went well,' said Kakuzu. 'Yes, I saw Itachi. But we didn't get much of a chance to chat.' Chatting, in any case, was not really a word that applied very well to Kakuzu's style of conversation. Or indeed, to Itachi's. Both men smiled slightly in amused recognition of this fact. 'Will you be away walking this weekend?' Kakuzu asked, feeling extra sociable as he did so.

'No, I'm off to the coast as soon as I can get away,' Kisame replied. 'Apparently there are some good waves around Whitsands area. Itachi's busy this weekend. I think he wanted to try and see his little brother.'

Itachi's little brother meant trouble, that much Kakuzu knew. 'Oh dear, is he?' he said, injecting his tone with sensitive concern. 'Well, I hope that doesn't go too badly.'

'Mmm, quite,' said Kisame. There wasn't much else one could say. He patted one of the dogs absently. 'Off to the Heath, then, is it? These guys sure keep you busy.'

'That's right,' said Kakuzu, 'Well, I'd better get along. Have a good weekend, Kisame, if I don't see you before you go.'

'Will do, will do,' Kisame turned back in at his gate and Kakuzu continued briskly up the road and onto the Heath. He liked Kisame, particularly because he didn't feel the need to run his mouth off about things that didn't concern them, and neither did Kakuzu. He was one of those people you feel you know well, but who doesn't really intrude on your life. Restful company.

It wasn't until he was right at the top of Parliament Hill, looking over the city, that he allowed himself to think about last night. He let the dogs off the leash and left them to run around by themselves while he stood there watching the sun trying and failing to break through the drizzle and low cloud. It hadn't been the kind of night he was used to. Not the sort of thing that he thought of as happening to him now. It was a long time, after all, since he'd come off late shifts with a group of sexy male nurses and ended up. Well. He supposed it wasn't so very like those times then. After all, he hadn't taken Hidan home.

Not that he hadn't wanted to. But when he suggested sharing a cab, seeing as they'd missed the last tube, Hidan had revealed that he lived over the South side of Tower Bridge, and anyway, he was on his bike. Kakuzu wondered if he'd got home OK. He'd been exceptionally drunk, and the East End traffic, even at that time of night. Well. Worrying about it wouldn't get him anywhere.

'Will you be OK to ride,' he'd said, concerned.

'Man, you don't say that to me! Worry about the fucking motorists!' Hidan had called impudently over his shoulder, walking his black and red hybrid along the pavement away from Kakuzu with a hand resting casually on its saddle.

'Well, take care,' Kakuzu had said, wincing as Hidan cut across three lanes of traffic and disappeared in the direction of Shoreditch High Street. The last he saw of him was his hand raised in an obscene gesture, possibly in farewell or perhaps just in response to the several car horns that had sounded in his wake.

Kakuzu sighed and watched his dogs bounding up the hill towards him. He threw a couple of sticks for them, sending them bounding away again. He supposed Hidan could look after himself. He'd been at pains to highlight that fact, anyway. He'd probably been cycling round central London like a dangerous clown for years, and he'd survived so far. Kakuzu wondered fleetingly whether that sickening swoop through the speeding traffic had been for his benefit. He had to admit that the sight of Hidan scooting off the kerb standing on one pedal, then swinging his left leg over the back wheel in an elegant arabesque while steering one-handed had been rather impressive, in a totally insane and irresponsible way. He could see that if he was going to see more of Hidan he'd have to make a point never again to watch him leave.

It was difficult to get the events of last night out of his head, once he'd let them in again. After their first exchange, Kakuzu and Hidan had stayed together for the rest of the evening. First, they went around the exhibition, much of which featured Hidan in some way or another. Hidan had talked a lot, telling Kakuzu amusing stories about the hazards of sitting for Deidara, or recounting salacious anecdotes about people that he recognised. Kakuzu hadn't said much. He'd been content to watch Hidan and let his words wash over him. It had turned out that they knew a lot of the same people. They'd gone to talk to Sasori, but Hidan had offended him, so they'd moved swiftly on. Hidan was very rude to Mr. Pein's PR man as well, but he was far too well bred to respond. Insults were like water off a duck's back to him. Finally a very blonde young woman wearing very red lipstick had thrown half a glass of red wine over him and tried to burn him with her cigarette - Kakuzu had felt it wise to intervene at this point - and they'd decided to leave.

He couldn't get that image out of his head - Hidan smirking imperturbably with dark red liquid dripping down the side of his face and off his chin. There was one particular drop sliding down from the corner of his mouth that Kakuzu would have liked to've licked off then and there. But instead he'd handed Hidan his handkerchief and looked away.

Surprisingly, Zetsu the film-maker and Tobi (a photographer) elected to join them when they left, and Kakuzu began to get the distinct impression that Hidan, disruptive as he'd been by Kakuzu's standards, had actually behaved himself tonight far better than anyone could remember. Everyone thought it was Kakuzu's influence, and Konan was very grateful to him. They'd all gone to a pub on Old Street.

It had been a funny experience for Kakuzu really, because he knew this Tobi was actually the magazine magnate, Madara Uchiha, and had in fact known him for years while he built up his empire, but as he was extremely eccentric and fancied himself as a photographer, he wanted to be accepted by the art crowd on those terms. And the art crowd thought he was rather sweet and let him hang around, but didn't take his work seriously at all.

Hidan knew him in this guise, and hadn't yet made the connection that the magazine cover he was appearing on later that month was in fact owned by Tobi. It had made for a rather amusing conversation, at least from Kakuzu's point of view. He hadn't liked to say anything, since he knew Madara liked to go about incognito, but he couldn't help the odd chuckle in one or two inappropriate places and interestingly enough, for someone so obviously untrammelled by considerations of etiquette, Hidan was rather touchy. At the merest hint that he might be being mocked, he was immediately a endearing mixture of aggression and wounded innocence. Kakuzu just couldn't resist poking at it. The odd wry smile here, or an affectionately teasing remark there and his crest would be up and all his feathers ruffled. Kakuzu thought it was rather sweet.

These musings took Kakuzu through breakfast, showering and changing into a dark and sober business suit and onto the tube, where he sat with a slim volume of T. S. Eliot in his hand and didn't even pretend to read. He wondered how much of last night Hidan remembered. He had obviously been very drunk. He wondered if he'd see him again, and how soon.

The train juddered as it went round a bend, and the lights flickered. Kakuzu looked at his reflection, distorted in the curved window opposite, then up at the map of the Northern Line. Euston, King's Cross, Angel, Old Street - his heart gave a little jump at the place he'd been last night, even just the name written diagonally along a thin black line - Moorgate, then Bank, where he would alight. Kakuzu began to wonder just what had got into him.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N After months of dormancy this story really seems to be moving along... so thanks to everyone who's still reading! Hopefully I should be updating pretty regularly now... Since it's AU I've really started feeling the need for surnames, so I'm using the names of the the hidden villages they came from, Taki for Kakuzu, Yu for Hidan...

* * *

Hidan blinked as he emerged into the sunlight. The day had really improved while he'd been in Deidara's studio. He hadn't really noticed while he'd been inside since, although well lit, the studio only got the sun in the morning.

It had been a long session. Longer than they'd planned. Deidara turned out to have left one of his casts near one of his particularly volatile new charcoal pieces (also involving sulphur and potassium nitrate...) and it had exploded in the night. So he'd had to cast Hidan in that position all over again. _And it would have been the one in the most difficult position to hold_, Hidan thought bitterly, stretching his shoulder muscles with an agonised grimace. He massaged the left side of his neck with his right hand and wondered what to do next. He didn't particularly feel like going home. It was Friday, and he wanted to do something fun. But Deidara was busy preparing for going to Berlin, and had to arrange for the casts to be transported to the workshop where they'd be remade in silicone ready to be cast from multiple times in caramelised sugar. The sugar melted slowly in room temperature conditions - faster, of course with higher heat and humidity. The many sugar Hidans were destined for a slow, distorted and painful death, ending up as puddles on a gallery floor. It made the original Hidan feel a little sad to think of it.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flicked it open. It was just coming up to four. He wondered idly whether to call up Tobi or Zetsu, but then dismissed the idea impatiently. He didn't feel like their company anyway. He began walking slowly in the direction of the tube, then decided he didn't feel like being underground, either, on a sunny spring afternoon like this, and turned back on himself, cutting down Tabernacle Street in the direction of City Road.

Immediately he felt better. Although he hadn't actually made a decision - just postponed one, really - about what he was going to do with the rest of the day, he felt like a weight had been lifted from him. He was unaccountable, he was free, and if he didn't know what he wanted to do with his freedom, well, he would just wander until he did know. He switched his phone off and put it back in his pocket. Now he was untraceable and uncontactable too, he thought smugly. No-one could bug him with last minute requests for sittings, or try to make him come and see art house films he didn't actually give a shit about.

He didn't think about where he was going, just wandered vaguely Southwards, not hurrying. It was nice to be moving after hours of keeping still. Hidan turned his face up to the sun and breathed in deeply. The air was getting cooler, the sun was still warm, but it felt like evening sunshine. Hidan didn't quite know why, but he felt excited. His hangover was completely gone - he might get them badly, but he normally recovered quickly enough. Deidara had gone out and got them deli sandwiches for lunch and that had got rid of the last shreds of the headache that had been mainly exorcised by the brisk walk to London Bridge through the drizzle. Hidan felt quite ready for another night of fun. The question was, with whom.

Going round a quarter of Finsbury Circus to get away from the noise of the main road for a few minutes, Hidan idly fingered his Oyster card in his jacket pocket, and felt something odd about it. It was a little thicker than usual, surely. It felt like there was a ticket tucked under the outer plastic flap. But Hidan never bought paper tickets. Bringing it out, he saw that it wasn't a ticket at all, it was a business card. A chunky, good quality one. Ivory watermarked card, the letters slightly embossed. One word jumped out at him and brought images from last night swimming up before his eyes. 'Kakuzu'. Kakuzu! The guy at the private view...

'Kakuzu Taki, Art Investment Manager' it read. And there was a message, written in an elegant scrawl across the bottom of the card. 'Give me a call if you're in the Bank area, K'. Hidan began to smile. He crossed over the main road and, looking down Throgmorton Street, he could see the Stock Exchange. Bank station was less the five minutes walk from here, he estimated. He looked at the address on the card, and smirked again. Even closer! He decided he wouldn't _give_ Kakuzu a call, he'd _pay_ him a call. After all, it was Friday, maybe he could leave work a little early!

Five minutes later Hidan was in an impressive lobby, smiling charmingly at a receptionist. "Is Mr. Taki expecting you?" she trilled.

"Yes," said Hidan, feeling that Kakuzu really should be, having written something like that.

"What name shall I say?" The receptionist picked up the phone.

"Just say 'Hidan'," said Hidan. "He'll know." He leant nonchalantly on the high desk as she made the call.

"Mr. Taki?" she said, and Hidan faintly heard the deep rumble of Kakuzu's reply. "I've got a _Hi_dan, here to see you, down at the front desk?" Her voice was a little doubtful and questioning, and she stressed Hidan's name oddly.

Kakuzu's reply seemed a little surprised in tone, and Hidan tensed as he tried to work out exactly what he said. He thought it might have been "Oh really?"

"Oh!" said the receptionist. "He said you were expecting him..."

Upstairs, looking out over at the Monument, Kakuzu smiled and covered for his surprised reaction. "Oh yes," he said. "And so I am." He gave a swift glance at his watch. "Four-thirty already, is it? Goodness."

The receptionist gave a gurgling laugh. "Time does seem to go quickly on a Friday, Mr. Taki... shall I send him up?"

"No, no, I'll come down," said Kakuzu. "Tell him I'll be with him in a moment." He put down the phone and stood for a moment, incredulous that the surreptitious business card trick should have already borne fruit. He took a moment to compose himself, then went out through his secretary's office and headed for the lifts.

Down in the lobby, Hidan had been directed to a seat and given a glass of water from the water cooler. He was slightly surprised, but pleased, that Kakuzu was coming down to meet him. He didn't want to get lost in a bank. He wondered if Kakuzu would be annoyed. He'd seemed like quite a serious sort of guy, after all. Hidan felt a bit like a naughty child.

Kakuzu felt the tug at his heart strings that was becoming quite familiar by now as he saw Hidan sitting by a potted fern, having not noticed him yet._ My God, h__e's so hot_, Kakuzu thought, imagining taking him right then and there. His imagination removed the receptionist, obviously, and the security guard. He wondered if Hidan was that attractive to everyone. That prematurely grey hair... Kakuzu thought it looked fantastic, and gave him an air of sophistication too. There was no question of it making him look old. Hidan saw him and got up. Kakuzu crossed over the chequered marble floor to him and shook his hand, patting his shoulder lightly as he did so.

"Good to see you, Hidan," he said. "Will you come up for a minute? I just have a few more phone calls to make and then I'll be through for the day."

He ushered Hidan through the wooden doors to the lifts, and called one down. The doors opened immediately, and they stepped inside. Now Kakuzu's imagination had no obstacles to remove. He looked at Hidan and his lips twitched in a predatory smile. Hidan lounged against the mirrored wall and returned the smile as the doors closed again. "I wondered if you'd come," Kakuzu said.

"Ah, I was at a bit of a loose end," Hidan replied.

"I'm sure we can get that tied up..." The lift doors opened and Kakuzu guided Hidan out with a light touch to the shoulder. "This way..."

His secretary looked up, interested. Kakuzu favoured her with a curt nod as he led Hidan straight into the inner sanctum of his private office.

"Make yourself at home," he said indicating the brown leather sofa against the far wall. "I won't be long." He walked around his desk and perched on the edge of it. Hidan sat down on the sofa, and like anything he did he did it obviously and expansively, his arms stretched along the back, his legs wide apart. Kakuzu angled himself so that he was facing away from him, but could see his vague reflection in the floor to ceiling windows.

_Where shall I take him?_ he asked himself as he dialled the number of a major German collector, tucking the receiver between his ear and his shoulder as he reached for his pen and notepad. Sosho? No, too noisy. The East Room? Hmm. It might be irritating for Hidan to double back that way, if he'd walked from Old Street... Loungelover? ... Yes. Yes, why not? Opens early on Friday, good cocktails, sushi, nice opulent atmosphere, ironic enough feel not to be too tacky... pity their house champagne's not better, but that's a harsh thing to judge an establishment by... plenty of other champagnes on the wine list, after all...

He wasn't really focusing on his phone conversation. When he put the phone down he couldn't quite recall what he'd said - he'd been watching Hidan's reflection out of the corner of his eye. He'd begun to wander around the room, looking at Kakuzu's books and the masks on the wall. Kakuzu could imagine keeping him in here all the time, like some kind of very high maintenance pet. He smirked into the receiver as he dialled the next number, wondering what his business associates would make of such a thing. They'd probably go home wanting one of their own...

* * *

'Well,' said Kakuzu as they walked out of the building. 'Where would you like to go? There's a great bar in Shoreditch I went to recently... if we walk slowly it should be open by the time we get there.'

Hidan took Kakuzu's hand and brought it up so he could read the time off his watch. 'It opens at 5.30 on a Friday,' Kakuzu said hastily - something told him that - fit as he obviously was - Hidan wouldn't like the idea of too long a walk. 'It's only about twenty minutes from here.'

Hidan looked up at the clear sky, just beginning to dim, and then back at Kakuzu. "Alright," he said. "Lead the way!"

* * *

Half an hour later, having taken the walk at a very leisurely pace, Hidan and Kakuzu were seated in the back part of Loungelover, scanning down the cocktail menu.

It was only a moment before Hidan tossed it onto the table and leant back. "I'll have the Sidecar," he said, his eyes lazily meeting Kakuzu's dead on. "Like fuck I'm ordering any dodgy concoction with fig liqueur in it."

Kakuzu smiled. The boy had style. "I couldn't agree more. It makes one think they must've had a job lot off the back of a lorry," he said. "I'm sticking with the Dry Martini, myself."

He caught the eye of a waiter, and placed the order, ordering a mixed platter of sushi as well, then turned back to look at Hidan. The entire of the back of Loungelover was decorated in red, red velvet curtains, red leather settees, even red tinted glass in the windows. It was an atmosphere that seem to suit Hidan to perfection. Kakuzu let himself admire him for a moment, without speaking. He did like to have a striking companion.

He'd been single for a long time now. Kakuzu was forty-two, and had gone through partners like water after he first started working in the City, but for a while now he just hadn't been able to muster the necessary enthusiasm. But this felt different. This had his heart beating again.

"So, you got home safely last night." he said.

"Fuck, yeah," Hidan replied. "Like I said, don't fucking worry about me. Sure, I've come off a couple of times - who fucking hasn't? - but I know how to hold my own on the road."

"Indisputably..." Kakuzu murmured. "So, the fact that you're on foot today doesn't indicate that you wrote off your bicycle last night."

"_Fuck_ no!" Hidan replied, heatedly. "What it fucking indicates is that it was a horrible fucking morning, and I had a _mother_fucker of a hangover, and I couldn't be fucking bothered."

Kakuzu smiled indulgently, watching Hidan with amusement. He seemed to be getting hooked even on the way he talked... the obscenities seemed to slip out so naturally...

"Pussies who ride in the fucking gutter at fucking five miles an hour," Hidan continued, obviously on his hobby horse, "are in more fucking danger than I am! You have to assert your right to use the road! Show the fucking motorists you mean business! I don't use cycle lanes on fucking principle! They fucking spit you out in the middle of big fucking junctions with nowhere to go, and they're too fucking narrow. It's a fucking farce."

The waiter arrived with their drinks, and Kakuzu indicated the Sidecar towards Hidan.

"I was more concerned by the amount you'd had to drink, actually," he said. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Hidan replied, taking a slurp of his cocktail and rolling it around his mouth critically. "No, man, that's no fucking problem, because the more reckless and instinctive you are on a bike, the better you ride. It's hesitation that will fucking kill you."

Kakuzu sipped his Dry Martini. "What about balance, though," he asked. "What about reaction time?"

"Balance is instinctive," said Hidan. "I couldn't fall off if I fucking tried. And your reactions on a bike are so much quicker than a fucking motorist's _anyway_, it's not true."

Kakuzu rather suspected it wasn't, but he didn't want to press the point. "Good cocktail?" he asked.

"Fucking-A, man," said Hidan. "It's actually fucking strong enough."

They both laughed. They'd spent the walk over there talking about Hidan's sitting with Deidara, and moved from there to last night's private view, then private views in general. Hidan's views and observations had been in equal measures profane and hilarious. But now, Kakuzu wanted to really know about Hidan. The real guy beneath the prickly joker with no regard for his personal safety. He wanted to know if he was really part of a crazy bloody cult, why he seemed to be so dead set on taking his life in his hands, how he became stuck into the kind of hedonistic lifestyle that seemed to spell burn-out by thirty.

But he didn't know where to begin, and he looked at Hidan, and Hidan looked back at him, and though the silence could not be called comfortable, it wasn't awkward either. It felt... poised. The chemistry between them sent tingles down Kakuzu's spine. And just when he was sure things were going to get interesting, just when he was leaning over to close the space between them, he saw a familiar face appear over Hidan's shoulder.

It was a blast from the past that was really, really not welcome, and he genuinely couldn't find the words to reply when he was greeted as if they hadn't tried to strangle each other at their last meeting.

Orochimaru. Really, after his conversation with Kisame this morning, it just seemed like too much of a horrible coincidence. He wondered whether Sasuke was with him tonight, or whether Itachi had succeeded in arranging to meet his little brother. Which meant maybe Kabuto would be here! _Oh please, no!_ thought Kakuzu. Kabuto had been a brilliant young medical student when Kakuzu was a junior doctor, and Kakuzu hated any reminder of his medical past. Every time Kabuto saw him he brought it up, as well. He had been about the only person Kakuzu had kept in touch with. Then he'd introduced him to Sasori, and Sasori had had a bit of a thing with him. And at that time, Orochimaru had been showing regularly at the newly opened Akatsuki Gallery - he'd schmoozed his way in with all of the original Akatsuki crowd. But when they all fell out - after... whatever it was that had gone down with Itachi - and Orochimaru had severed his connections with them and vanished from the scene, Kabuto had unexpectedly gone with him.

Kakuzu really didn't want to see him when he had Hidan with him. Possibly, though, he wanted to see Orochimaru even less, he considered, as Orochimaru proceeded to introduce himself to Hidan and sit down sinuously next to him, putting a predatory hand on his arm. Kakuzu felt his blood begin to boil. He wanted to strangle the smarmy bastard then and there!

"Fuck off!" said Hidan, indignantly. Orochimaru didn't move, but smiled oilily at Kakuzu.

"What a lively temper your charming friend has, Kakuzu," he said in his hoarse voice that always made Kakuzu think of someone who'd given too many blowjobs. "I congratulate you - you may have finally met your match!"

Before Kakuzu could react, Hidan had shrugged off Orochimaru's hand and elbowed him in the face. "What part of 'fuck off' don't you _fucking_ understand, you _prick_!" he said. "Keep your fucking hands off me, alright?!" Guys like that seriously creeped him out. He stood up and moved over to Kakuzu's side of the table, where he sat down close enough that Kakuzu practically had his arm around him without having to move. "Jeez." he murmured. "What a douche."

Orochimaru hesitated for a moment, hand to his face, then retreated, obviously embarrassed, as he realised he had a fairly heavy nosebleed to deal with. Following him with his eyes, Kakuzu saw that Kabuto was indeed with him, he'd been waiting at the bar. He gave Kakuzu a discreet wave. Kakuzu nodded curtly in return.

Now he really did put his arm around Hidan. "I'm sorry about that. I know some dreadful people," he murmured. "But it was really almost worth it to see you elbow the bastard in the face!"

"No shit!" Hidan replied, smirking, feeling somehow invulnerable with Kakuzu so close beside him. "I was fucking hoping he'd give me the opportunity! Isn't he the prick who runs that independent art school in Kennington?"

"That's right," Kakuzu said. "He set it up after he got fired from Chelsea for having fiddled with too many students... though he said it was because he wanted to 'give students a better grounding in technique'..." They both snorted with derisive laughter. "Did you ever do any modelling there?"

"Yeah, I used to." Hidan swallowed the last mouthful of his cocktail. "I never ran into the man himself much, though, just glimpsed him from afar. I got hired by the head of painting. It's a fucking awful atmosphere there, seriously. The student body is seriously nearly _all_ pretty boys who the boss wants to screw." He spun the empty glass around between his fingers. "Not nice for a model, really. Not a place you really feel comfortable with your fucking pants down."

Kakuzu took Hidan's glass. "Another the same?" he asked.

"Sure." Hidan replied.

Kakuzu turned away to sign to the waiter, keeping his arm loosely along the back of the settee behind Hidan. His heart was pounding and nervous tingles were unsettling his stomach. He hadn't been with someone he wanted so much since - since. Well, he couldn't even remember the last time. He'd forgotten the subtle intricacies involved in getting someone to the point where they want to go to bed with you. And he was afraid, in case after sleeping with Hidan the dynamic between them was ruined, and also afraid of continuing to want him so much that he actually ceased functioning properly. _At all costs, remain outwardly calm,_ he told himself. _Don't let him see the state he's got you in._


	5. Chapter 5

The evening was just turning out so much nicer that he could have imagined, Hidan thought, as he slid back into the plushy red seat opposite Kakuzu after a quick trip to the gents. He looked across at him with a satisfied half smile. Kakuzu half-smiled back, obviously not feeling any need to pretend he hadn't been watching him all the way across the room. _He's going to fuck me tonight,_ thought Hidan. _It's one of those inevitable things_._ I really, really fancy him_. It seemed like the whole evening, no, maybe the whole day had been leading up to it. But, no hurry. Hidan took a sip of his cocktail, keeping his eyes trained on Kakuzu. It was going to happen, so Hidan was going to enjoy every minute up to it as well.

_I might as well know a bit more about him_, he thought. "So, Kakuzu," he said, leaning forward, playing the old undivided attention trick, though he knew he was way past the stage of having to use tricks - this man was his. "How'd you end up with the Akatsuki crowd?"

Kakuzu smiled. What a thrill it was - once you were past forty - to have a hot young guy look at you like that, like you're the only thing registering on their radar. "I've known Madara from way back," he began, then thought, _oops, let the cat out of the bag there. Oh well. _"You probably know Madara as Tobi," he continued with a rueful smile. "Did you know Tobi owns the whole Akatsuki magazine franchise?"

Hidan's mouth curved slowly into an incredulous smile. "No way!" he said, breaking into unrestrained giggles. "Fuck! Who'd've fucking guessed that? And all those pretentious fuckers are so fucking patronising to him!" He laughed into his Sidecar, his shoulders shaking with mirth, then reached across the table and took Kakuzu's hand. The gesture was impulsive and unexpected. It took Kakuzu's breath away.

"I like you, Kakuzu," he said.

Kakuzu smiled, and squeezed his fingertips just as they slipped away again. "I like you too," he said. Nearly under his breath, but as close as they were, Hidan would've heard anyway. It didn't take more courage than he had to voice the words, low and intense. He sipped his Martini, and Hidan ate the last piece of sushi. Kakuzu caught the attention of a waiter and ordered more. He looked back at Hidan, expecting and steeling himself for the intimate mood to be somewhat diminished, but it was there in full force.

"So what happened next?" Hidan asked.

"Well, I'd just got a job in the city, for the first time I had capital and I wanted to invest." Kakuzu shot a glance at Hidan to check if his eyes were glazing over - he really didn't want to bore him, not just yet - "And Madara said, why not take a share in the magazine he'd just bought. And it seemed like a going concern, so I did. And I still have it," he added, modestly not explaining quite what that meant in financial terms, but smirking slightly - he couldn't help himself.

It was over Hidan's head though, so Kakuzu went on. _He's pure, in financial terms_, he thought, wonderingly, _he really, genuinely, doesn't care. The sin of avarice is absent from him_. "And I'd already started my own collection, at that point, but business I got into on behalf of Akatsuki Publishing brought me into contact with the emissaries of Nagato Pein. I've still never met the man in person." Kakuzu paused. It always irritated him slightly that he had not, and to admit it, still more. But Hidan didn't seem to think it mattered. "So I backed Akatsuki Gallery, because I was the one with the capital, and --"

"So, you actually own Akatsuki Gallery?"

"No, not precisely. Pein bought me out of the majority of it when he'd made enough - we had an agreement. But I'm still a major shareholder."

"Dude." Hidan knocked back the rest of his cocktail and twiddled that glass around by its stem. He laughed. "I bet if you hadn't made that agreement you'd still be holding on to all those shares."

"Absolutely," Kakuzu agreed. "That was why Pein insisted on it in the first place. But it was still an advantageous deal..."

"Like a pre-nup..."

"Something like that."

Kakuzu took Hidan's glass away from him, just like before - sure he was going to end up breaking it and impaling himself on the pieces - and ordered him another drink.

* * *

Just around the corner, in Leonard Street, Konan was having dinner with Yahiko - more widely known as Mr. Pein's smooth blond PA. She raised her glass of white Châteauneuf-du-Pape. "To another successful Opening!" she said. "I think we both deserve congratulations! It wasn't the easiest, was it, given the volatile nature of the works?" She laughed. "I think Kakuzu Taki's face when he saw how much had sold was my finest moment! He really almost looked surprised!" She mused a moment, thinking about the way he'd taken Hidan Yu in hand... She was relieved, and pleased for both of them. Although she hadn't seen it coming, it made a lot of sense. Kakuzu needed someone to liven him up, and also, she suspected, someone to look after. And Hidan badly needed guidance. Although a lot of people obviously wanted to watch a young firebrand crash and burn, Konan hated to see talent go to waste, and it was distressing to her to see someone evidently troubled and craving affection and understanding without anyone to depend on. It had worried her for a while, seeing how he ran with the wild crowd - Tobi, Zetsu, Deidara - without truly connecting to any of them. Now, perhaps she wouldn't have to worry any more.

Coming back to the present, she turned her attention back to her own problems. Yahiko's face was curiously blank. Konan knew how hard it was for him, having to watch Nagato become more and more successful, while his own ambitions had come to nothing. She wished now that she hadn't mentioned the Private View. If Nagato hadn't made Yahiko his PA, he'd really be nothing now. Konan was wrenched with pity and frustration for him. He'd repayed Nagato's favour by becoming the most perfect PA imaginable - smooth, polite, efficient, and expressionless. It had destroyed their friendship, though neither man would admit it. Only Konan saw glimmers of the old Yahiko now. He'd suppressed his his true character, his personality, along with the pain and disappointment that would have broken him otherwise. And that was what she had fallen in love with, years ago, the real Yahiko. But she was sure it must still be there, somewhere. He still loved her, after all, didn't he?

She swiftly led the subject away from Nagato's ventures, and the conversation fell naturally onto the other matter on her mind. "I was so glad to see how Kakuzu hit it off with Hidan," she said, smiling. "I think they'll be good for each other."

Yahiko smiled wryly. "You're too sweet for this business, Konan," he said, an definite edge of bitterness in his voice. "Hidan will milk Kakuzu for every penny he's worth, before he loses his pretty-boy looks and the old bastard gets rid of him."

"Yahiko! I don't think that's true at all!" pleaded Konan, distressed. "That sounds like something Nagato would say - this isn't like you!"

Yahiko looked at her with cold eyes in which she felt could see the desperate struggle going on. "I_ am_ Nagato, Konan," he said, despairingly. "That's all I am, now. A shell for Nagato to channel himself through. His opinions _are_ my opinions. God, I hear the words 'Mr. Pein's PA' more often than my own name, these days!"

"Yahiko." Konan reached over and took his hand. "Hear _me_ say it. Yahiko and Nagato are two very different people, to me."

Yahiko rubbed a hand over his face, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, babe," he said. "I'm sorry. This was meant to be a nice relaxing evening, wasn't it?" He smiled at her bravely, and it was a shadow of the cheeky grin he used to give her so easily back in their university days. "Let's see if we can get away for a few days, soon. I need a break."

* * *

Over in his Camden artists' squat, Deidara was trying to pack for his trip to Berlin, and talk to Sasori on the phone at the same time.

"Sasori, un," he said, panicking a little. "What've I forgotten? And do you think they'll let me take my new charcoal compound on the plane, un?"

"What does it contain?" asked Sasori, carefully packing away his carving tools, preparing to leave his Warren Street studio for the night.

"Sulphur and Potassium nitrate, un. And charcoal, obviously, un."

Potassium nitrate as in _saltpetre_?" Sasori paused expressively. "That's gunpowder, Deidara."

"I know, un, they're the _ingredients_ of gunpowder, yeah, but you've got to get the proportions right before it'll explode, un."

Sasori sighed, not sure he really wanted to know any more about this - he could end up facing 'accessory to terrorism' charges. "And, ah, _have_ you got the proportions right?" he asked delicately.

"Well, un, there was an explosion in the studio last night, yeah, but I don't know for sure if that's what caused it."

Sasori shut his eyes a moment. How on Earth had he ended up feeling so responsible for this crazy kid. "_No_, Deidara, is my considered opinion," he said. "I don't think they _will_ let you."

* * *

Back in Shoreditch, Kakuzu and Hidan once again reached the charged silence which heralds the point at which conversation ends and action begins. And this time, no unfortunate acquaintances appeared to distract them. A brief and artificial exchange about where they might want to go for dinner ended hastily in a "Shall we just go back to mine," from Kakuzu, and swift agreement from Hidan.

* * *

As Kakuzu successfully hailed a cab on Shoreditch High Street, Konan and Yahiko's main courses arrived. They both had their diaries spread out on the table. "If only I didn't have to go to Edinburgh next weekend..." Konan sighed. "That's _your_ only free weekend for months..."

Yahiko paused, a forkful of seabass halfway to his mouth. "Could we send anyone else?" he asked, trying to sound hopeful. It didn't really _seem_ hopeful. Nagato was expanding out of London, and the trip was involved with the setting up of 'Akatsuki Edinburgh'...

"Well, not any of Nagato's other secretaries." Konan frowned slightly, delicately eating a spear of asparagus. "He'd want to know why I wasn't going, wouldn't he?"

"I hate all this secrecy, Konan!"

"I know, but if Nagato found out about us, both our careers would be over. And he's so sick, Yahiko, I _can't_ just turn my back on him!"

"I hate it that he thinks he owns you!"

"It can't really do any harm." It wasn't as if Nagato was up to a physical relationship, after all. Konan lowered her eyes - she really didn't want to discuss this with Yahiko. She cared about Nagato more than she could easily admit to him. Even though he was so unwell and reclusive, his mind at least was as passionate as it had ever been. She might not like the direction he'd decided to take with his life, but in a strange way she did still love him.

"Why don't we ask Kakuzu to go?" she said suddenly, looking up at Yahiko, her eyes brightening.

"_Kakuzu_?" Yahiko looked bewildered.

"Well, he's a major Akatsuki shareholder, he's efficient, he's discreet - and all I'm supposed to be there for is to be the face of Akatsuki really, to represent the gallery and deal with any issues that Sasori and Deidara can't handle. Kakuzu could _absolutely_ manage it."

"Well, but why _would_ he? He's a busy man, Konan, we can't ask him to give up his weekend..."

"He'll go." Konan leant forward, smiling. "He'll go - because _Hidan_'s going. Remember - Deidara wanted him there so they could scope out the space for their new performance piece."

Yahiko slowly began to smile too. "I suppose if your womanly intuition isn't completely barking up the wrong tree," he said, "you might be onto something." He flipped backwards in his diary. "That would mean we could leave on Thursday night and make a long weekend of it! We could pop over to Paris. Or book into a country hotel. Or we could just stay at mine and not answer the door or the phone all weekend. What would you like best, darling?"

Konan leaned over the table to kiss him. "The last one!" she said. "Though it may be practical to get out of London, I suppose..."

* * *

"I'm not fucking happy about these casts, Sasori," growled Deidara through gritted teeth, on the phone to his unofficial mentor again. "I really need to make some alterations, un, but I can't get hold of Hidan! Where do you think he is, un?"

"It's Friday night, Deidara," Sasori reminded him patiently and pedantically. "I'm sure he's painting the town red somewhere. This is Hidan we're talking about!"

"I know, un, but he usually has his phone on. He's not with Zetsu or Tobi, either, un."

Sasori chuckled. Deidara could be so naive when he had his mind firmly on his art. He thought he had a good idea of where Hidan might be _and_ why he might not have his phone switched on - an old friend of his had a way of getting what he wanted, and after seeing the way Kakuzu's eye had followed Hidan's every move last night, his desires could not be in doubt - but he had absolutely no intention of suggesting to Deidara that he call _there_.

"It's too late to change the casts, Deidara," he said firmly. "I thought they were already at the workshop? Look, I'll come over before I go home, and we can look at it together. They're only going to dissolve in a few weeks anyway," he added unwisely, then moved the phone away from his ear a little, bracing himself for Deidara's inevitable wounded indignation.

"Maybe you should stay at mine tonight," he said quickly, in an attempt to distract Deidara before the explosion. "You'll be closer to the airport. I can give you a lift in the morning." In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a necessary course to take. He was pretty sure it was the _only_ way to get Deidara off on time, and to avoid last minute forgotten-passport dramas and the like. He'd probably end up packing for him... Sasori sighed, but really only out of habit. "I'll be with you in a quarter of an hour," he said, then added, "Or, perhaps more like twenty minutes, at this time on a Friday..."

* * *

By the time Sasori arrived in Camden, Konan and Yahiko were drinking coffee and thinking about getting the bill, and Kakuzu and Hidan were stumbling into Kakuzu's dark hall where Kakuzu was swiftly and efficiently disabling the alarm system with one hand, the other arm still being wrapped firmly around Hidan.

Hidan found it rather sexy, actually - Kakuzu was so assured, he knew exactly what buttons to press without even seeming to look. He could probably have done it with his eyes closed. Though it was likely that anything would've turned Hidan on in his current mood. He'd had rather a lot of brandy cocktails, and their uplifting affect combined with Kakuzu's penetrating green eyes on him all evening had been titillating in the extreme.

He was looking expectantly at Kakuzu's profile, his eyes just beginning to adjust to the dimness, when four big black shapes suddenly appeared from further down the hall. Hidan could see eyes shining in the gloom. He pressed closer against Kakuzu, and one shape approached him, a strange vibrating noise seeming to emanate from it. Heart suddenly thumping, and his mouth dry, he backed off, seriously alarmed, trying to put Kakuzu between them. He wondered why Kakuzu didn't seem to think anything of it. Fuck - he suddenly realised - it was a _huge_ black dog. And the guttural vibrating noise was growling. Shit, it was probably going to spring at him and bite his throat out! "Shit," he whimpered. "Kakuzu, do something!"

"Down," said Kakuzu calmly, not even needing to raise his voice and not bothering to look round as he reset the alarm. He should've thought - Tsuchi didn't much like strangers, but he hadn't considered the possibility that Hidan might be afraid of dogs. He whistled softly, pointing to the kitchen, and all four dogs slunk away. Hidan stood pressed against the wall, heart thumping and butterflies in his stomach. He bit his lip, hating the way his voice had come out about an octave higher than usual and wondering anxiously if Kakuzu would despise him now - why wasn't he looking at him? Had he in fact brought him here to feed him to his resident pack of wolves?

Kakuzu finished locking the door, then slowly crossed over to Hidan and stood in front of him, putting one hand on his chest, one on his neck. He felt his pulse, smiling at how it was racing. "It's OK, Hidan," he said. "Just dogs." Taking his time, he leant in close to him, his own heart-rate increasing as he saw the uncertainty and confusion in Hidan's expression. _So vulnerable, underneath the bad boy act_. He ran his thumb over Hidan's lower lip, then kissed him; gentle and lingering at first, but soon hard and passionate, his tongue exploring and demanding, his hand on Hidan's jaw, making his mouth open wider, tipping his head back. Hidan - realising after a long appreciative moment that he was just standing there with his own hands limp at his sides, made pliable by shock - began to respond fiercely. He wasn't a passive type at all, in the general run of things. He shrugged off his leather jacket and Kakuzu peeled off his T-shirt, then undid the button on his jeans, easing the zip down a little so he could slide a hand in.

Hidan thrust his hips forward to make it easier for him, and moaned as Kakuzu pushed back against him. He felt Kakuzu's breath hot in his ear as he whispered, "Come on. Upstairs."

They only made it as far as the half-landing, where it crossed Hidan's mind that a house with a lot of stairs could be very convenient for creative sex... Moaning inarticulate words of incitement and encouragement he fumbled condoms and a neatly turned down tube of KY jelly from his pocket before taking Kakuzu's belt buckle in his hand, flipping it open and kneeling in front of him.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Thanks to the people who reviewed the last chapter - you're keeping me motivated! This one and the last have borne the burden of having to move the plot on, but things should get more exciting from here! Kakuzu's dogs reveal their names! - they are Kaze, Kaminari, Tsuchi and Mizu after the elements of his mask creatures... only I took a bit of creative license with the last one... it probably should've been Hi, but that didn't seem like a good name for a dog... forgive me...**

* * *

_Very convenient for creative sex..._ That was probably Hidan's last coherent thought all evening. They hadn't been _all_ that creative, he supposed, as he lay in an unfamiliar bed the next morning, pondering what had gone down. Not _creative _exactly - by that point they'd been too desperate for each other too mess around - but extremely thorough, Man, he was sore! He'd been fucked from behind, sideways, face to face, with his legs over Kakuzu's shoulders, and finally, on top, where he'd finally come, and somehow Kakuzu had made sure it all went over Hidan, even though he was the one on the floor. Hidan had flopped down onto him a moment later anyway, though, so it probably hadn't done him much good in the long run.

Hidan rolled over, groaning at the daylight in his eyes. He didn't remember getting into bed. In fact, he might easily just have fallen asleep on the stairs, draped comfortably half on top of Kakuzu. He felt a little awkward now. He was, he supposed, slightly anal about his own space, and he never liked to stay over after a casual fuck. His post-coital falling asleep habit didn't exactly help him avoid that, of course, so it often happened, and he hated the dismal mornings, everyone a little worse for wear, and a bit less attractive than they'd been the previous evening. Going downstairs to slightly grungy kitchens, with washing-up in the sink and no nice cereal. Still, lovers tarnished by the harsh light of day were better than none at all, he supposed. He wondered where Kakuzu was - he'd known the moment he woke that he was alone. Had he dumped Hidan in the guest bedroom, like a discarded toy? He rolled over again, and something crunched as his head moved onto the other pillow.

He struggled into a more upright position, groaning again as his head jolted. It seemed like he was playing the martyr to another hangover. There was a note on the pillow, slightly squashed now. Hidan smoothed it out.

'_Good Morning, Hidan!' _It read._ 'Gone to walk dogs, back in an hour-ish. Water and Nurofen on the bedside table if you need it - make yourself at home, K.' _Kakuzu had written the time at the top of the note, as well. _'8.30 am.' _ God. That was early! Hidan glanced at the clock. It was just coming up to quarter past nine. Still early! And he was wide awake now. Kakuzu must have opened the curtains before he left, curse him! Hidan availed himself of the water and Nurofen, then piled all the available pillows into a nest-like stack before slumping back against them, taking a good look at the room. He felt a strange emotion he couldn't quite name creeping over him. Somehow the term 'casual fuck' was beginning to seem a little out of place, even just in his head.

Certainly he had to admit that his normal arguments for not staying over were irrelevant here. The grungiest thing about the room was Hidan himself, bleary, ruffled and probably smelling slightly of sweat and last night's sex. He sniffed delicately. Yes. There was definitely an element of that, though it seemed that Kakuzu had cleaned him up a little before putting him to bed. God knows how. Hidan imagined Kakuzu standing over his prone form with a giant sponge and snorted with inappropriate laughter.

The rest of the room was immaculate, and in a restrained and perhaps even austere way, rather opulent. Possibly rich was a better word... There was a large rug on the floor, of the type that Hidan thought of as Afghan. The floor itself was the original floorboards, but obviously re-sanded and varnished at great expense. The walls were an expanse of rich cream, the curtains subtly striped raw silk incorporating muted shades of the colours in the rug. All the wood - the bed itself, a large chest of drawers and wardrobe were the same dark shade - mahogany perhaps - and obviously antique. Two alcoves housed floor to ceiling bookcases, both full. The window looked out over Hampstead Heath, and must've been one of the most sought-after views in London. It was raining steadily, and Hidan could hear it pattering comfortingly outside. He snuggled down under the cream Indian crewel-work bedspread, and relished being warm and dry...

He had to admit that it was much nicer than waking up in Deidara's squat, or some project space in Hackney, where you couldn't even go _out_ for breakfast, let alone get anything decent in. Undoubtedly, it was the way to live - the man obviously had both taste and a knack for living well. Hidan was willing to bet that Kakuzu's kitchen was well stocked with fairtrade coffee and artisan loaves. Probably Global knives (complete with ceramic steel) and gigantic bamboo chopping boards as well. He wondered whether Kakuzu was the type to have a Raeburn, and couldn't decide. Almost bound to have a juicer... maybe a smoothie maker... Weekend newspapers delivered... It made his own sixth floor Docklands warehouse conversion apartment seem a little soulless.

Glancing at the clock, he realised with an unfamiliar little jolt that Kakuzu might be back in less than ten minutes, and he decided he'd better get properly clean. He didn't want Kakuzu to find him dishevelled and unkempt. He got up - slowly - and made a token gesture towards making the bed before locating his dressing-gown and going in search of a bathroom.

He'd often had cause to bless his profession on a morning after, and it did make him feel far more comfortable wandering the halls of a strange and impressive house, not to have to do it in the nude, or in hastily flung on clothes from last night. He liked his dressing gown - it had red and white stylised clouds on a black ground, and was a particularly nice shape. He hoped he'd be able to get another as nice when it finally wore out. It had been a present after his first photoshoot with Akatsuki magazine, during which Deidara had managed to set his last one on fire...

Peering over the bannisters, Hidan realised he must be on the second floor. Did that mean Kakuzu had carried him up a flight and a half of stairs last night? Hidan felt himself blush slightly. He hoped Kakuzu wasn't irritated. For some reason he found he cared rather intensely what Kakuzu thought of him. This was an alien and rather disturbing feeling, and he suppressed it. He returned his attention to his surroundings. The landing he was standing on was wide and spacious, leading to a large study straight ahead, and a guest bedroom, to the side. There was a set of pull-downable steps leading up to what was probably a loft conversion...

Down half a flight of stairs immediately to the left of the bedroom door Hidan finally found a bathroom, and this he liked a little less than the rest of the house. It was large and rather cold, and it had a Victorian feel about it. The bath had clawed feet, and the toilet cistern seemed to be made of Willow-pattern china. It was mounted on the wall - higher than Hidan's head - and it didn't look to him as if it was entirely stable. He warily pulled the ancient looking chain that hung from it, one hand raised in case it fell on him, and the toilet gurgled ominously as if it wanted to swallow him. Who the fuck would want a toilet with so much history? Hidan didn't like to be made to think of how many shits had taken the same journey while he was innocently trying to take a slash...

Obviously, Kakuzu had had the shower put in in more recent times, so it had a more modern feel than the rest of the room, but still, Hidan suspected that his host was not a man with a particular reverence for showers as an institution. Probably he took less than five minutes and didn't even _notice_ if the water wasn't hot. He felt paranoid enough to open the airing cupboard and feel the tank inside. It was hot, and, encouraged, Hidan shed his dressing gown and got in the shower. He had an immersion heater system back in his Docklands flat, so running out of hot water could never happen...

There were two approaches Hidan took with strange showers - either leave the settings as your host has left them and hope they have good taste, or turn it as hot as it will go, then inch the temperature down once it's heated up. He chose the second. He had a high success rate with this technique, and wasn't disappointed here. Reaching for Kakuzu's bodywash, he sniffed critically. More 'Old Spice' than 'Young Turk', certainly, but it was quite pleasant nonetheless. He squeezed out a generous blob.

* * *

Meanwhile on a bench on top of Parliament Hill, Kakuzu let the dogs bound around without him for a while. He wondered if Hidan was awake yet - he'd been like a log when Kakuzu left him. In fact, he'd become log-like about ten minutes after collapsing slippery and flushed onto Kakuzu's chest on the first-floor half-landing last night, and stayed that way ever since. Kakuzu smiled at the thought. He must've worn the kid out! He hadn't so much as stirred while Kakuzu wiped their combined come off him with a damp flannel, and had just obediently and obliviously swallowed while Kakuzu benevolently fed him water in an attempt to lessen his hangover in the morning.

And far from finding it a tiresome chore, as he would've predicted, Kakuzu had really rather enjoyed ministering to the younger man. Even carrying him upstairs - and Hidan was no light-weight - had felt right, and satisfying to him. _'Lay your sleeping head, my love, Human on my faithless arm,' _he had thought, wishing he could remember the rest of the poem, and consequently he had a slim volume of Auden poems with him now. It was satisfying his need for a sort of confirmation of his emotions a lot better than Eliot had yesterday - a bad choice, in retrospect, far too cynical for his current mood. And, as he had suspected, the rest of the poem had borne out his feelings, particularly the bit about the abstract insight waking the hermit's carnal ecstasy. _"Mortal, guilty, but to me, The entirely beautiful,"_ he murmured before mentally slapping himself in the face for his sentimentality. If he wanted a lover he exchange literary quotations with he'd've done better to bed Sasori. And that idea didn't appeal to him at all.

Grimacing slightly at the thought, he got up and slipped the book back into his pocket, glancing at his watch and whistling to the dogs. He'd been longer than he said - timekeeping had never been a strong point of his - but he suspected it wasn't Hidan's either, so he didn't hurry. Tsuchi came bounding up to him, followed closely by Kaze; Kaminari and Mizu lagging a little behind. Tsuchi had always been the most attached to him - Kakuzu felt a little guilty at how many times he'd had to ask the vet's little brother Kiba to walk them in the last week, but he couldn't find it in him to regret how he'd spent the time instead.

The rain started to come down harder, and Kakuzu hurried down the hill, making for home.

* * *

Hidan really couldn't bear to put his T-shirt on, after he got out of the shower. It hadn't exactly been fresh yesterday morning, and now it was most definitely in need of a wash. He could hardly bear to touch it. Still, it wasn't cold in the house, despite the dismal weather outside. Hidan didn't see any reason to wear a top at all, under the circumstances. The situation with his boxer shorts was similar, so he decided to go commando. He wandered out onto the landing, trailing his dressing-gown behind him, wondering where Kakuzu was. He'd taken at least half an hour in the bathroom. Kakuzu was late!

He ran a hand through his drying hair, frustrated at the lack of gel to put in it. He'd rifled through all of Kakuzu's grooming products, which were shockingly few. Not even a moisturiser! Luckily Hidan carried one in his bag. He could see he'd have to start carrying gel too. And Kakuzu didn't have any conditioner, either. A real old school man's man, leaving beauty products to the ladies...

Wandering down to the first floor, he found that Kakuzu had his living room there. Unusual! There was another expensive looking rug on the polished floor, more bookcases... Wing-backed antique armchairs, an uncomfortable looking green leather settee... Hidan ambled lazily over to a smaller bookcase holding CDs. What would Kakuzu's musical tastes say about him? Hmm. Mainly classical. This disappointed Hidan's curiosity, as he could make nothing of it. He didn't even read the names and titles - a glance told him they would mean nothing to him. His eyes scanned past them to the few slightly less daunting albums... but even these seemed a somewhat austere selection. Alison Krauss and Union Station... Rather a lot of Leonard Cohen, some Dylan, Nick Drake, Leo Kottke... Sting's lute album... It was the classically educated man's few concessions to popular culture. Hidan felt a bit intimidated. He sat down on the rug and looked at the artworks scattered around the room. Some of the sculptures were Sasori's. He wondered if Kakuzu knew he'd posed for one of them, back when he'd first started modelling. It didn't really resemble him very much... Sasori had really just got him in for the anatomical side...

He had a sudden urge to just gather up his things and leave, now, while Kakuzu was out. Not having to deal with inevitably awkward conversation. Not having to betray his ignorance about everything Kakuzu seemed to care about. But somehow it wasn't a very powerful urge. This side of Kakuzu - the one who read books with names like 'And Quiet Flows the Don,' and 'The Sorrows of Young Werther,' not to mention having a scarily extensive poetry collection (could he _really_ have time to read them all?) - it didn't really seem _so_ incongruous with the side of him that had dealt so flawlessly with Hidan last night. God, just _thinking_ about last night made the pit of his stomach tingle with nervous excitement. He couldn't remember when anyone had last taken him like that. With such _authority_. That was the thing - Kakuzu had authority, and it made Hidan want to roll over and surrender.

Hidan actually did roll over for a moment, there on the rug, imagining Kakuzu coming in and fucking him senseless, then abandoning him there on the floor and sitting down to read Proust without giving him another glance. He smirked, then jumped up as he heard a key in the lock downstairs.

At the curve of the staircase - just where he'd undone Kakuzu's fly last night, and wantonly begun to suck him off - he remembered the dogs, and froze. The door opened and Kakuzu was revealed, surrounded by them. Fuck, was it really _necessary_ for one man to command such a large number of gigantic creatures? Hidan would have put it down to penis compensation of the same kind as driving a Mitsubishi Pickup, if he wasn't by now very familiar with Kakuzu's more than adequate size, and indeed, still slightly sore. The dogs each obediently shook themselves in the porch before crossing the threshold, then Kakuzu strode briskly over to the stairs and, shedding his overcoat and tossing it carelessly onto the bottom of the bannisters, ran lightly up to Hidan's side. He moved extremely gracefully for someone so powerfully built - Hidan was impressed, and more than a little turned on.

Damn, but Hidan looked hot like that, Kakuzu thought. Shirtless and barefoot, his hair damp and falling over his face a little more than Kakuzu had seen it do before. He reached for him without even stopping to consider, pulling him firmly towards him with a hand in the small of his back. He could smell his own shampoo, which pleased him. It made Hidan seem like his property...

"It's raining," Hidan said, displaying his knack for stating the obvious. Kakuzu's hand was cold on his bare skin.

"You don't have to go outside," Kakuzu murmured back.

Hidan leant back against Kakuzu's hand, letting him support his full weight. He looked at him provocatively with sultry bedroom eyes, but although he was rather tempted by the thought of revisiting last night's conquests, his stomach chose that moment to give out a loud rumble. "What have you got for breakfast?" he asked instead.

Kakuzu laughed. "This is cupboard love..." he said, brushing Hidan's hair back from his face, then setting him back on his feet. "What would you like? Toast? Muesli? Croissants? Eggs?"

Not Coco Pops, then. But Hidan had hardly expected them. Kakuzu laughed again, seeing him hesitate. "What do you normally eat, Sugar Puffs?"

"I like Sugar Puffs," said Hidan nonchalantly. "But I don't tend to keep them in stock." He wandered after Kakuzu down the stairs and along the hall towards the kitchen. "Toast would be lovely," he said, feeling extra civilised as he said it.

* * *

Kakuzu _did_ get the Saturday Papers delivered. And milk. And, incidentally, an organic vegetable box, but that was on a Wednesday, and wouldn't've been at all to Hidan's taste at all anyway. They sat together at Kakuzu's big wooden kitchen table, eating toast - Kakuzu with marmalade, Hidan with honey - and drinking coffee, Kakuzu's black, Hidan's aggressively 'au lait' and with three sugar lumps. Kakuzu read the Money section of the Saturday Guardian, and Hidan flicked through the Weekend Magazine, sniggering through Lucy Mangan's agony aunt column and scouring the society pages to see if he'd been spotted with Kakuzu. It was calm, harmonious, and relaxing.

"Have you got the Review over there, Hidan?" asked Kakuzu, laying down the finance pages.

"Uh huh," said Hidan, deep in a rather catty article which pretended to discuss the problems of a voyeuristic society whilst actually detailing the break-up of Jordan and Peter Andre. He tossed the Review over to Kakuzu without looking up. Kakuzu caught it neatly, but didn't open it immediately. He sat back and watched Hidan slurp his coffee and avidly turn the pages of the Magazine. Even more than yesterday afternoon in his office he had the feeling that he wanted to keep him, possess him. Also, that he was _bound_ to be trouble, of the kind that Kakuzu had spent most of his adult life avoiding. But just now, it was hard to imagine - he seemed so peaceful.

As he mused, the phone rang, making them both jump. Kakuzu went into the hall to get it.

"Hello. Kakuzu Taki speaking," he said formally.

"Kakuzu, it's Konan," came an anxious voice from the other end. "Kakuzu, I have an _enormous_ favour to ask of you." She managed to sound professional and beseeching at the same time. Kakuzu smirked into the receiver, amused. He suspected it might be something only women could pull off properly.

"Well, I'm in an obliging mood," he said, glancing sideways at Hidan, who had come up beside him to try and overhear. "Try me..."


	7. Chapter 7

Walking through a beautiful late spring morning from the City to King's Cross didn't give Kakuzu much pleasure that Friday. He'd decided not to get the tube, because it really wasn't far, and he'd thought the walk might clear his head and improve his mood. He was beginning to regret accepting Konan's request. But at the time everything had seemed so - so - what was the word? - idyllic? rosy? different? Now, he was beginning to see things in the harsh light of day again. And he told himself he should've known better, at his time of life, after everything he'd been through - things always turned out the same.

Thinking back to that Saturday morning, he almost cringed at the memory of how he'd covered the receiver with his hand and murmured questioningly to Hidan, "You're going to Edinburgh next weekend?"

"Uh-huh," Hidan had murmured back, pushing up close to Kakuzu, speaking right against his lips. And Kakuzu had kissed him swiftly and hungrily, finding himself almost out of breath as he'd then push him away and held him at arm's length for long enough to uncover the receiver and tell Konan that, yes, he'd go to Edinburgh in her stead.

At least he'd retained enough presence of mind to negotiate a fee, he considered irritably. Before fucking Hidan's sweet arse into the floorboards again and then taking him back to bed for the rest of the morning. Kakuzu clenched his fist in frustration. He'd seen him twice since then, and neither occasion could be regarded as entirely successful. Or satisfying. He almost wished he left the whole thing alone, kept untarnished the memory of walking him to Hampstead tube in the pouring rain, of the two of them under Kakuzu's largest umbrella, the way Hidan had turned to him, slipping his arms around him under his overcoat, smiling at him with that potent mixture of sweetness and bravado before turning away. It had all been so perfect, from the moment he'd appeared in the bank on Friday to that moment of parting on Saturday, and now it was ordinary, sullied. Full, like all affairs of the heart, with disappointment, disillusionment and bitter wounded pride.

They'd met briefly for lunch on Monday, and for dinner on Wednesday. On Monday Hidan had been late, and not because of some previous engagement over-running, either. Because he'd overslept. Overslept past midday, which was pretty much unthinkable to Kakuzu, who'd had to rearrange an important meeting to be able to meet him at all, and couldn't stay. They'd had about twenty minutes together, a good ten of which were taken up with bitter recriminations on both sides and the subsequent smoothing of Hidan's ruffled feathers.

On Wednesday evening it was Kakuzu who was late, because since he was taking today off, he'd had a lot to fit in. By the time he reached the restaurant they'd agreed to meet in, Hidan was leaving. Kakuzu thought after Monday he should have been more understanding - but no.

"Why didn't you fucking call?" Hidan had said. "I've been fucking sitting here for half an hour!"

"I could say the same to you about the other day!" Kakuzu had retorted, trying not to let his irritation show.

"_Oh_, this is all about _that_, is it? Well, _fuck_ you, Kakuzu - if this is your way of trying to fucking _punish_ me for keeping you waiting two fucking days ago, then fucking get a life and grow up, man, seriously!"

It hadn't been. Not in the least. But Kakuzu hadn't been about to demean himself by protesting his innocence, particularly in the crowded entrance of a fashionable restaurant. Hidan seemed incapable of keeping his voice down, and people were staring. Kakuzu hated scenes, but he could tell that any hint of embarrassment would make Hidan behave worse. "Keep talking to me like that, and I _will_ just leave, Hidan," he'd said coolly, shocking him into silence. "Now, we can either stay here or go somewhere else, but for God's sake, let's not waste any _more_ time."

Inevitably, after that, the atmosphere of their evening had been somewhat strained, though Kakuzu supposed it was something of a triumph that they'd managed to be civil to each other at all.

And yet still Kakuzu couldn't stop thinking of him, still, he had that week-old flyer on his desk, violet eyes seeming to look at him now with confusion and resentment. He tried to make excuses in his head, for both of them, and to be fair, they _had_ both had somewhat hectic weeks. Hidan had had numerous oddly timed fittings and photoshoots for the Comme des Garçons collection, plus his ordinary sittings for various artists all based in different parts of town. Kakuzu had had three very important deals to get through before the weekend, all complicated by idiot collectors who had no idea of the financial implications of their crass and uninformed tastes. They were both tired, they were both trying to adjust to something totally unfamiliar in their lives. Kakuzu could tell Hidan didn't like the fashion work, and Hidan was doing his best to hide it. It was obviously putting him in a foul mood. But it was all a bit of a comedown after the way they'd seemed to connect so seamlessly over the weekend.

Realising he was slowing down as he dwelt on these uncomfortable recollections, Kakuzu picked up his pace. He seemed fated to be late for everything this week...

Deidara and Sasori stood under the clock in King's Cross Station, looking at the departure boards. Deidara could feel how agitated Sasori was getting - they'd arranged to meet Kakuzu and Hidan here ten minutes ago. Deidara and Sasori had both arrived separately 15 minutes ago. Sasori had booked the tickets in advance, and he had everyone's.

He smiled a tense little smile and looked at his watch. "This is most inconsiderate," he said. "I really don't know what Konan was thinking, getting Kakuzu in at the last minute. There were bound to be complications... Kakuzu is a busy man..."

"Hmm," said Deidara noncommittally. "They'll be here in a minute, un, don't worry."

"I wonder if they're coming together!" Sasori exclaimed petulantly, but with a glimmer of interest in his eyes. Sasori loved gossip, and he'd heard some intriguing rumours this week - teaching in several different art schools meant a lot of sources of information... "That way, there might be _some_ chance at least of Hidan making the train!"

"They're not, un," said Deidara. He didn't bring it to Sasori's attention that their train's status had just changed from 'On Time' to 'Platform 8' on the overhead display - that was really going to put the fat in the fire. "Isn't that Kakuzu over there?"

It was. Kakuzu made his way unhurriedly through the crowds and Sasori hissed with indignation at his composure, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. "You're late," he snapped as Kakuzu reached them. "Where's Hidan??"

Kakuzu raised his eyebrows in a maddeningly unruffled expression of surprise. "I've no idea!" he said, shaking his head minutely, enjoying denying Sasori the satisfaction of being able to confirm his suspicions. "Somewhere between here and Tower Bridge, I imagine." He glanced up at the departure board. "Oh, look! Platform 8," he said. Deidara closed his eyes. "Will Hidan be enterprising enough to find us there, do you think, if we go over?"

"Does he even know what train we're getting?" asked Sasori irritably. "Oh God! we've got three minutes til it leaves - he'll just have to make his own way!"

They all glanced around. There was no sign of Hidan. "Give me his ticket," Kakuzu said, resignedly, holding out his hand. "You two go on..."

"No, come with us, Kakuzu, un," said Deidara. "Hidan's probably forgotten where we were meeting - maybe he's at the platform already, un."

This seemed to make sense, so the three of them went over to the ticket barrier of Platforms 8 and 9, but Hidan wasn't there. They were all looking around with the self-consciousness peculiar to people waiting for something, when Kakuzu's phone rang.

"It's him," he said, checking the screen. There seemed to be no way to stop Sasori getting his gossip-fix after all... oh well. "Where are you, Hidan," he said, flicking the phone open.

"Gray's Inn Road," said Hidan, only just audible over the rushing sound of traffic and what Kakuzu took to be several car horns and a siren. _Please tell me the North end,_ Kakuzu urged silently. Gray's Inn Road went all the way from here to Holborn!

"I'm just coming up to the junction." Hidan continued._ "_Where are you?"

_Oh God, Hidan, don't go over the Thames Link junction talking on your phone... _Kakuzu shut his eyes in horror. "We're at Platform 8," he said, loudly and swiftly. " Come straight here - you won't have time to tie up - you'll have to bring your bike on the train. Now get off the phone before you go over that junction!"

"Too fucking late, dude, I'm in the middle," said Hidan irrepressibly. "I'll be with you in 30 seconds, Ka-kuzu, man!"

Kakuzu snapped his phone shut and closed his eyes in despair. "I'm going to kill that kid," he muttered through gritted teeth. He felt he could hardly bear to look over to the station entrance, in case he looked and looked and Hidan didn't appear, but he couldn't allow himself to behave so ridiculously. He got a grip on himself, schooling his features into their normal expression of slightly forbidding indifference. And there Hidan was - scooting through the crowds, scattering people left and right. Kakuzu supposed he wasn't technically riding - he had his right foot on the left pedal - he wasn't actually astride the bike... Twenty yards from the ticket barriers he hopped off and wheeled his bike along with his hand on its saddle, looking the picture of cycling innocence. Sasori whipped out the tickets and flourished them aggressively at a station official, and they were through onto the platform with one minute to go.

Hidan - illegally but unstoppably - mounted up again and shot down the platform looking for the bike carriage. Deidara and Sasori dived into the first door they came to. Kakuzu followed at a more relaxed pace and stood leaning out of the doorway, watching Hidan lift his bike into the train six carriages down, then hop out again, then back in at the next door. Wondering if cyclists often got left behind - their bikes inexorably borne away from them at the mercy of National Rail - he wandered into the carriage where Sasori and Deidara were establishing themselves on one side of a table. He laid his coat and briefcase over the seats opposite them. "He made it," he said expressionlessly, then walked off down the train to meet Hidan coming up.

He met him halfway down the train, in between carriages. Hidan was out of breath and and obviously exhilarated from his break-neck ride, and all the reasons why he couldn't just give up on this relationship - if you could call it a relationship at this delicate stage - hit Kakuzu like a sucker punch to the stomach. It had the effect of making him appear particularly misanthropic and dour as he tried desperately to hide the fact that Hidan's mixture of touchy ungovernability and sweet selfishness was completely irresistible to him. He gripped Hidan's forearm painfully hard, relishing the hurt expression in his eyes almost as much as the opportunity to touch him. "Can't you have a little more consideration for the people waiting for you?" he said, his voice as hard as his grip. "And for me, imagining you going under a bus on that junction?"

Hidan snatched his arm away, his expression quickly shifting from wounded puppy dog to mulish stubbornness. "Fuck you, Kakuzu," he said. "You don't fucking own me." He felt like Kakuzu had slapped him in the face - he'd been so sure that when he saw him he'd feel better. He almost wished he _had_ gone under a bus.

"Like I'd want ownership of such a liability," Kakuzu replied, turning away. "Just try not to embarrass me - people seem to think I have some kind of influence over you." He hardened his expression, his mouth setting in a firm line. Damn it, he really hadn't come here meaning to be cruel, but he was stung by Hidan's words, and uncomfortably conscious of the fact that he _did_ rather want to own him - the words came out colder than he'd intended. He pressed the button to open the carriage door and moved away, knowing that if he said anything else now it would only make the situation worse.

"Kakuzu!" he heard Hidan call after him. "Oi, Kakuzu, wait!" but Kakuzu found he really couldn't face the thought of another argument and he pretended not to hear, continuing through the articulated vestibule area into the carriage. He heard Hidan follow, but didn't turn around to see the expression on his face - a mixture of tired blankness and misery that would've told him instantly that it wasn't a fight Hidan wanted.

"Forget it," he heard himself say wearily. "It doesn't matter now."

_What fucking doesn't matter?_ thought Hidan wretchedly, motionless for a moment, not quite knowing what to do. _How you just fucking walked all over my feelings? Or what I wanted to fucking __say__ to you? Which I've fucking __forgotten__ now, you cold fucking bastard!_ He followed Kakuzu down the carriage, and ignored the conciliatory little smile he gave him as he stood aside to let Hidan get into the window seat. He sat down without a word, then kicked Deidara's ankle under the table, really just to vent his mood a little bit.

"Oi, fuckwit, how was Berlin?" he asked.

Deidara kicked back, but Hidan was ready and managed to avoid taking it on the shin, like Deidara had obviously intended from the vicious look in his blue eyes. "Got to be fucking quicker than that, dude," he teased, telling himself he felt a little better as he swallowed the sick, desolate feeling that arguing with Kakuzu always seemed to evoke in him.

Deidara was obviously in a forgiving mood, because he started to tell Hidan all about his trip, and didn't even try to kick him again. Hidan found he couldn't concentrate, though. He was restless and antsy - he couldn't get comfortable in his seat and he couldn't block out the rumble of the train - the noise was even beginning to give him a headache, or maybe it was just exacerbating one that had already been forming. He went from being too hot - from his exertion of his cycle ride - to being shivery and cold. He'd put his jacket up in the luggage rack, though, and he didn't want to ask Kakuzu to stand up so that he could get it, because that would involve speaking to Kakuzu, which he wasn't currently prepared to do.

"Mate, are you listening, un?" he heard Deidara say, and he gave himself a mental shake, running a hand over his face and rubbing his eyes.

"Ah, fuck, no, sorry man, I was zoning out there," he said. "What was that you just said?"

He felt Kakuzu look at him curiously, but refused to turn and meet his gaze. "I _said_, un, that they fucking put my new charcoal pieces in fucking bullet-proof glass cases," said Deidara. "What do you think of that, un? I was _fucking_ pissed."

Hidan felt miserable, because he'd seen that Kakuzu had one of Deidara's pieces in a controlled-environment tank in his house, and Hidan would've liked to've made eye contact with him, and smirked knowingly - maybe even brought it up and teased him about it - but his wounded pride didn't allow it. "It's a fucking shame," he contented himself with saying, hoping Kakuzu would interpret his words as tacit criticism of himself. "The fuckers don't care about _meaning_, it's all about fucking _money_ to them."

"Right on, un," said Deidara excitably. "That's _exactly_ what it's about, un!" He was on his hobby horse now, and Hidan knew he could go on for hours, not noticing that Hidan wasn't paying any attention at all. He let himself drift back into his self-pitying reverie.

"Are you cold, Hidan?" he heard Kakuzu murmur to him. "You're shivering."

"I'm fine," Hidan said automatically. He was torn between wanting to use this entry Kakuzu was giving him to get back on good terms again, and wanting to punish Kakuzu by spurning all his friendly overtures.

"You want me to pass your jacket down?"

Wow. This was persistent for Kakuzu. "I'm _fine_," Hidan insisted, aiming for a cold tone, but ending up sounding sulky and petulant instead.

Kakuzu gave up and got out his book. It was Nabokov's 'Lolita'. If Hidan wanted to stew in his own juice all the way to Edinburgh, well, let him. He opened it unhesitatingly to the page he'd been on - no bookmarks for Kakuzu - and began to read. He immediately regretted his choice - it kept inappropriately reminding him of his own situation, and really, this wasn't a protagonist he wanted to identify with at all - but he forced himself to concentrate and read on, as if totally unaware of the vehicle of inner turmoil that was Hidan simmering beside him.

_How_ could Kakuzu do that, Hidan wondered. Had he compartmentalised his brain to such a degree that he could just shut off from things that disturbed him, his mood remaining entirely unaffected by them? Hidan certainly couldn't do it, and he thought it was kind of despicable anyway. You'd end up not being _able_ to feel things, if you did that too much. He fingered his Jashin rosary through his John Rocha shirt and looked out of the window. He hated the landscape around here. So fucking flat and industrial. Ugly.

He began to warm up again as sunlight filtered through the carriage windows, but his mood didn't improve. By the time they reached Peterborough he felt anxiety bordering on panic, the pressure in his head felt unendurable, he began to imagine he could hear his own heartbeat. He started to feel desperate, he needed some kind of relief, or at least distraction. But Deidara was asleep now, and Sasori was reading some book about fucking phenomenology or shit like that. Kakuzu hadn't so much as glanced at him for about half and hour. He decided he'd try listening to some music for a while, though there wasn't anything he really felt like. But peering under the table to delve into his rucksack as the train pulled away from the station, he noticed that Sasori's bag was open - and resting neatly on top was a little tin that Hidan knew well from modelling sessions in Sasori's studio. Immediately, he began to feel calmer. He smiled. Discreetly lifting it out, he murmured a soft "Excuse me," to Kakuzu, and made his way down the aisle to the toilet.


	8. Chapter 8

Kakuzu looked idly out at the fast moving landscape rolling past the train window. He considered briefly that he should really have flown. It might even have been cheaper - not that that was ever really a consideration on his salary, and naturally, this was coming out of Akatsuki's expenses. They should certainly have gone first class though - the only reason they hadn't was because Deidara said it was elitist and immoral and first class should be abolished. Deidara had also had a few things to say about planes, which Sasori said he'd picked up from Zetsu, but of course these 'principles' hadn't stopped him flying out to Berlin last week...

Still, he had to admit, it was really a lot more convenient by rail - no waiting around at an airport for longer than the time of your actual flight. No trek across London all the way out to the unfashionable end of the Piccadilly Line. The train journey was only four and a half hours, ish. They'd probably saved time.

Speaking of time - Kakuzu glanced at his watch - Hidan had been gone, he'd assumed to the toilet, for nearly half an hour now. He looked up at the toilet light - it still showed engaged. He wasn't feeling at all easy in his mind about Hidan, but it was difficult to know what approach it was best to take. After all, he'd only _known_ him just over a week, though the intimacy that had immediately sprung up between them had made it feel longer. Closing his book, he looked over at his other companions. Deidara was asleep, but Sasori met his concerned frown with a questioning raise of his eyebrows.

"Hidan's been gone a while. Should we be concerned, do you think?"

The two older men regarded each other calmly, considering the situation. Neither of them quite knew the etiquette regarding quite how much you're allowed or expected to look after a man fifteen years your junior. Sasori looked down, running a hand through his hair, and tucked his copy of Gaston Bachelard's 'The Poetics of Space' back into his bag. And started slightly as he noticed that the tin containing his scalpels and finer carving tools was missing.

'Yes, I rather think we should,' he said quietly. Kakuzu didn't ask him why, but merely accepted the fact that Sasori now saw some urgency in the situation. It was one of the things Sasori liked about him. They both got up and made their way down the narrow aisle, Kakuzu instinctively sliding his briefcase off the luggage rack and taking it with him. They left Deidara still sleeping - perhaps both feeling, possibly unfairly, that he might be more hindrance than help. Maybe just a typical reflex of a serious older man towards a younger, wilder version.

The toilet in this carriage was the big round disabled kind, with a door that had to trundle incredibly slowly around at least a quarter circle before you could lock the door. Kakuzu could never resist manually trying to urge it round faster, always realising as he did so that it was entirely futile and he was making no difference to its speed at all. He felt an inner conviction that Hidan would've done the same. He knocked on the door firmly, Sasori standing back a little, as though he was only there to back Kakuzu up in what was rightfully his responsibility. Kakuzu felt both irritated and vindicated by this. He pushed down both feelings as he knocked again, saying 'Hidan,' in that penetrating but hushed tone that people use to hail each other in public places.

"Dude, what the fuck?" came Hidan's voice faintly from within. "I'm taking a shit, man!"

"You've been in there half an hour, Hidan," Kakuzu didn't believe him. Hidan's voice sounded so relaxed it was positively trippy. He wouldn't have been surprised to smell hash drifting out, but instead was beginning to wonder if he could smell blood. He looked exasperatedly and questioningly at Sasori.

"My scalpels are missing," Sasori murmured to him.

Right. That was conclusive in Kakuzu's opinion. "If you don't open the door in five seconds I'll call the conductor," he commanded. "Let me in, and we can sort this quietly." He paused a moment longer. "I mean it, Hidan." He glanced at his watch. "Five... Four -"

"Jeez, man, seriously!" Kakuzu listened closely and thought he heard an irritated sigh, then movement and the press of a button, and slowly the door began its arthritic trundling journey towards 'open'.

Taking in the disturbing scene in an instant, Kakuzu quickly stepped inside, closely followed by Sasori. He pushed the 'close' button hard several times, but of course it insisted on opening fully before it would start closing. No-one was around, but Kakuzu and Sasori stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the spectacle that was Hidan from view anyway.

On the floor lay Sasori's tools, though it looked as though only one scalpel had been used. Hidan's shirt was hung neatly out of the way on the little plastic peg on the far wall, but the rest of the cubicle was liberally splattered with blood. Hidan himself was slumped on the toilet, with its lid down, Kakuzu was glad to note. He seemed to bleeding only from the wrists, and that in a very controlled way mainly over the tiny sink, but he had daubed a strange symbol on the floor - the same as the symbol he wore around his neck, of course.

Kakuzu looked into wary violet eyes and saw that there was more to this than he understood at the moment. Picking up the instruments, he handed them to Sasori, saying repressively, "I'll take care of this; you get these out of here."

Sasori did so, being good enough to go along with Kakuzu's intimation that the presence of the tools was providing immediate risk and emotional trauma to Hidan. Hidan was still slumped motionless on the toilet. Both he and Kakuzu waited until Sasori was out of the door before doing or saying anything else.

The door closed and Kakuzu pressed the lock button. He opened his briefcase and got out the first aid kit he just couldn't get out of the habit of carrying. It wasn't a typical one - it looked more like what you'd expect to see on a surgeon's side table.

"Right, let me look at that," he said calmly, trying to take Hidan's wrist. Hidan pulled away.

"Give me another minute," he pleaded. "I'm not done - I can't fucking leave the ritual in the middle, can I?!"

_Can't you? _thought Kakuzu, but he looked into Hidan's eyes and saw that he was serious. Also, agitation was raising his heart-rate, making him bleed faster. He let go, and leant against the wall. "Alright. One minute," he said, looking at his watch, determinedly keeping his voice utterly calm. "I'll tell you when it's done. But in return, you have to let me patch you up afterwards without bitching about it." He felt Hidan's eyes on him, still wary, but realisation dawning in them that Kakuzu was not to be quarrelled with in this mood.

The minute seemed to pass incredibly slowly to Kakuzu, but he kept his word. Keeping a monitoring eye on Hidan all the time, he leant against the far wall of the cubicle, frowning._ So, this is it,_ he thought. The source of the 'self-harming' rumours, the 'dangerous cult' rumours. The inspiration for Deidara's notorious film. Which, he reminded himself, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off. _Poor kid,_ he found himself thinking, _completely fucked-up._ But it was difficult to keep that sensible objective view as Hidan licked the blood off one palm, turning St. Sebastian eyes upwards, mouth moving sensuously as if in invocation or prayer. Kakuzu was fascinated. It was different from the film. Deidara's work had made Hidan appear ephemeral - a brief bright moment that would soon be lost. But then Deidara saw everything that way. Hidan doing this in the flesh seemed eternal - aggressively real, his presence strengthened, imprinting itself on your eye, on your soul.

Kakuzu pulled himself together. It wouldn't do to get sucked into the strange glamour of this ritual. Someone had to think about practicalities here. The immortal invulnerability that seemed to radiate from Hidan was entirely an illusion. Kakuzu made himself look at him as a doctor rather than a - a _connoisseur_. Hidan was _not_ OK. He probably hadn't lost very much more than a pint of blood, but he looked pale and dizzy and Kakuzu didn't want to take any more risk than was necessary. He began to prepare sterile dressings and antiseptic wipes. From his brief glimpse of the wounds he thought they'd be able to get away without stitches, if he taped them carefully. As soon as the minute was up he set to work.

He took Hidan's left wrist, which seemed to be bleeding slightly faster. "This may sting a little," he said expressionlessly as he wiped over the wound - making Hidan hiss with discomfort - before delicately laying fine strips of medical tape across it then pressing down with a pad of cotton wool. He held it down with his thumb while he bound it tightly in place, then did the same to the other wrist. Squatting in front of Hidan, he took both his wrists and pressed firmly down on both pads. Two minutes, and the bleeding should be under control.

"Ouch, man," said Hidan languidly. "That fucking hurts."

"It'll hurt more later if I don't do this now," said Kakuzu curtly, glancing at the second hand of his watch. "Do you want to arrive in Edinburgh needing stitches?"

"No, man, but I've done this before, and I've never needed stitches." Hidan complained.

"Well, that's a miracle, then, but I expect you've never done it on a juddering train before, have you?" Kakuzu demanded. "I didn't think so. So, let's have no more complaining. I'm helping you out here, and in return, you have to do as I say. God only knows how you thought you'd deal with this by yourself..."

Hidan sighed, but didn't say anymore. Kakuzu felt a twinge of concern. He must be feeling rough to shut up that easily - the religious zeal gone for the time being, he was reduced to being a fucked up vulnerable kid again. He suddenly seemed very young to Kakuzu.

The two minutes up, he unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and, tipping Hidan's head back with one hand, he put it to his lips. "Drink," he commanded. Hidan drank. "Better?" he asked. Hidan nodded tiredly. Kakuzu sighed, made him drink a little more, then gently pushed his head down to rest on his knees. Then he turned his attention to the rest of the cubicle. He dampened some toilet paper and scrubbed the circumscribed triangle off the floor, then ran water into the sink, swilling it around to try and get rid of all the splatter marks.

Finally he looked back at Hidan. He sat him up. He seemed to have managed to get blood smeared up to his elbows, all over his hands and on his face. Sighing, Kakuzu dampened his handkerchief and started with his face, holding him firmly by the chin. By now, Hidan was pliable and obedient, half-closed eyes gazing dazedly and disconcertingly into Kakuzu's. Kakuzu worked faster - he needed to get him moving soon, or he'd end up having to carry him. Taking his hands one at a time, he held them just under the flow from the tap, taking care not to splash the bandages, massaging the dried blood off with surprisingly delicate movements. Patting them dry and cleaning from the wrists up took more paper - Kakuzu was beginning to think he must've used the equivalent of an entire roll by now - but finally he had Hidan looking almost respectable again. As respectable as an ashen pale, wide eyed religious extremist could look anyway...

He took down Hidan's shirt and began to ease it on, checking his wrists to make sure the bleeding hadn't started up again. It hadn't. Then he squatted in front of him again and did up the buttons. He didn't want Hidan moving his hands more than was absolutely necessary. Any movement would make the blood pump harder, potentially re-opening the wounds. He sighed. This kid was trouble, just trouble, what on Earth was he doing letting himself get so involved. But he recognised that he was already in way too deep to allow himself to back off.

"Up you get," he said, slipping his hands under Hidan's arms and lifting him bodily off the toilet. He steadied him while he regained his balance, keeping an arm around him as he pushed the button to open the door. "Now, I'm going to take you back to your seat, and you're going to sit down quietly while I get you some tea from the buffet. Are we cool?"

"We're cool," said Hidan, his voice small. He didn't like Kakuzu disapproving of him. In fact, there was no-one he wanted to approve of him more, but there were some things he just had to do. His shoulders slumped a little. It was unfortunate that the more Kakuzu disapproved of him, the more Hidan needed to do the things of which he was bound to disapprove. Was that a Catch-22? He wasn't sure. Kakuzu would know, obviously.

Kakuzu noticed Hidan's sudden dejection and felt a surge of exasperated fondness. He squeezed his shoulder as he ushered him out of the door. "At least you kept your shirt clean," he said with a wry smile. He was glad no-one was waiting. That could have been rather embarrassing. He pushed the little button to open the carriage doors, and shepherded Hidan through into the articulated in-between area. Then steadied him with one arm as he opened the next set - how many frustratingly slow button-operated doors did one train need? - and finally they were free to slowly make their way along the aisle and back to their table.

Kakuzu deposited Hidan in his seat opposite Sasori - he really couldn't be bothered to manoeuvre him into the window seat right now - and swung the little plastic arm down to stop him falling into the aisle if he got dizzy. "Keep an eye on him," he said curtly to Sasori, grabbing his wallet. "You want anything from the buffet?"

* * *

By the time he had made his way along what seriously felt like most of the length of the train, Kakuzu was lustfully eyeing the miniature bottles of gin behind the buffet counter. But perhaps that wasn't a good idea. Sighing, he asked for two black filter coffees and a cup of tea, making sure they didn't fill it too full. He grabbed five milks and six packets of sugar, and picked up a packet of Hula Hoops and one of Mini Cheddars as well. And a chocolate brownie, from a bowl on the counter. God knows what the 'Customer Service Host' made of his selection. Kakuzu felt like he must have 'Sugar Daddy' written all over him. Unless they thought he was an actual daddy. But real children didn't drink incredibly sweet tea, did they?

He checked his watch as he strode back along the train - they had two more hours of journey to go. Damn these slow trains - when would this country get a proper rail system, like high speed network on the continent, or, even better, Japanese bullet trains? Still, it was a relief in some ways, as it gave Hidan a good amount of recovery time before he'd have to move.

Back at the table, the atmosphere was frosty. Hidan was looking rebellious and sulky. Sasori looked primly censorious. They'd obviously had words. Kakuzu silently handed the paper bag to Sasori to hold, and proceeded to shoo a floppy and uncooperative Hidan over into the window seat. Eventually he just slipped one hand under his knees and the other around his shoulders and unceremoniously dumped him in it. Sighing again, he fished the teabag out of Hidan's tea, then opened in five of the packets of sugar into it and proceeded to try and dissolve them with the ridiculous little wooden lollipop stick stirrer that was provided. Then he added the contents of all of the tiny milk cartons and handed it to Hidan.

Hidan nearly spilt it all over himself, but Kakuzu had been ready for that and steadied the cup before any liquid could escape. "OK," he said wearily. "Then we do it my way." He held the back of Hidan's neck with his right hand, tipping his jaw to the angle he wanted with his thumb, then delicately began to feed him sips of tea. "I should've got you a straw..."

Hidan glared at him, feeling emasculated. "I know, it's horrible, I'm sure," Kakuzu soothed, smiling at his discomfort. "Though, to someone who sprinkles sugar on their Coco Pops, it shouldn't be _too_ unpalatable. But it's good for you, so drink it."

"Fuck that, man, I don't, not on fucking Coco Pops," Hidan protested. "Only if I have to mix them with shit like Rice Krispies to make them go further."

"I was only teasing you, Hidan, I didn't know for sure that you did it at all," Kakuzu assured him, giving him a break from the tea and handing him the Hula Hoops and Mini Cheddars. "Which would you like?" he asked. "I'll open them for you."

"These," said Hidan, indicating the Mini Cheddars, before realising the significance of Kakuzu's words. "Aw, fuck you, man!" he protested, "You fucking tricked me!"

Kakuzu couldn't help laughing at Hidan's aggrieved expression, and he wished Sasori would lighten up and do the same. "Cut him some slack?" he suggested quietly as he finally got his own coffee out of the bag and stirred half of the last packet of sugar into it. "This really isn't helping."

Hidan heard, though - the crunching of miniature cheese biscuits was not enough to mask even Kakuzu's discreet murmur. He grinned delightedly. "Yeah, tell this prick, Kakuzu," he said. "He's such a fucking sour-puss, seriously."

"Well, you did steal his precious tools for your nefarious purposes, Hidan," Kakuzu mock-reproached him. "You can't expect him to be pleased..."

"He should get a sense of fucking proportion," Hidan muttered.

Sasori was so offended by this that he rose to leave, but fortunately at that moment Deidara stirred. "What's going on, un?" he asked sleepily. "What did I miss? Where are you going, Sasori, un?"

Sasori hesitated a moment, then sat down again, the sight of Deidara emerging warm and fuzzy from sleep evidently too much for him to resist. Kakuzu met his eye coolly, his expression saying clearly, _let's be reasonable - we're the grown-ups here._ He chaperoned some more tea on its journey into Hidan's mouth, really just being a safety net this time and making sure Hidan didn't flex his wrists too much.

Deidara blinked, and looked from Hidan to Kakuzu and back with an expression of incredulous delight, then groaned. "Oh, you fucking didn't, did you Hidan, un? On a train, un!"

"Oh, he did," replied Kakuzu. "He fucking did."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N I can hardly believe it's been more than a year since I updated this! Still - here we are! I had such a block about this chapter that hopefully now it's done things will move smoothly again, though perhaps not particularly swiftly as I now have an 8-month-old baby!**

**Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed and for adding my stories to your favourites - every time it's happened I've thought 'I must update my stories!' and eventually it happened... Hope it's worth the wait.**

Almost unbelievably, they made the rest of the journey with no further mishaps, and by the time they pulled into Edinburgh station Hidan was revived enough to get his bike from the cycle carriage himself, and then zoom off up an incredibly steep ramp at breakneck speed. Then after a quick stop at their hotel to drop off their bags, they set off for the gallery, a five minute walk away.

And when they reached it, even Kakuzu had to admit the proposed Akatsuki Edinburgh was a fantastic space. It needed a lot of work, but that wasn't a problem. Deidara was enchanted by it, and Hidan was getting caught up in his enthusiasm, too. He was looking happy now; he seemed full of beans. Incredible, really - Kakuzu would've thought he'd be whacked after losing so much blood, and part of him wanted to make lie him down, cosset him, contain that hyperactive energy - but he seemed to have a fantastic capacity for recovery, and perhaps, after all, he knew his body best. Kakuzu knew somehow that if he wanted Hidan on a leash, it would have to be a long one - long enough, in fact, that he wouldn't notice the difference...

Leaving the artists and Hidan to explore, Kakuzu hunted down the building's owner and laid the groundwork for intimidating him into reducing the rent. Konan had not specifically asked him to do this, but he didn't see how it could do any harm. Actually, the guy seemed relieved to be dealing with a businessman, rather than some flaky artist. He told Kakuzu it was a pleasure to do business with him and they parted with a feeling of mutual satisfaction.

After that, and a quick tour of the building to see exactly how much needed doing before the place would be ready to open, there wasn't very much that he could do before the morning so he headed back to the exhibition space to see if Sasori might be ready to leave as well. Hidan and Deidara had been in full flow when he'd left them - drinking milkshakes and working out the possibilities of some bizarre performance piece that Kakuzu suspected would involve unacceptable amounts of blood, nudity and explosives - but Sasori's work wasn't site specific. He only needed to approve the look of the place and get a feel for how much work he'd need to produce. Kakuzu wondered if he'd feel like going back for an early drink in the hotel bar.

He was feeling a sudden need for the company of an older guy, or at least - because Sasori couldn't _really_ be well described as older - somebody cultured, articulate and intelligent. Restful company, anyway. And as soon as he put his head round the door he could almost _see_ the craving for the same thing emanating from Sasori. He was pressing his fingertips to his temples as though he had the mother of all headaches, and watching with dismay as Hidan and Deidara used Hidan's strawberry milkshake to simulate horrible anaemic blood. He nodded mutely in response to Kakuzu's suggestion that they leave them to it.

* * *

Restful company, Kakuzu had said to himself. Well, usually that wouldn't have been far off the mark, he was sure. But he couldn't help but notice almost immediately that Sasori seemed more than a little irritable this evening. They sat together at the bar, Kakuzu drinking Ardbeg 10-year-old, Sasori drinking Glenmorangie. Each thought the other's choice in equal measures unoriginal and pretentious, and both insisted that they just happened to feel like drinking whisky - it wasn't just because they were in Scotland. Sasori even went so far as to pedantically point out that the Ardbeg distillery was now owned by Glenmorangie, but this was a mistake in a conversation with an investment banker, as Kakuzu took vindictive pleasure in informing him that Glenmorangie was owned by two of the largest multinational beer, wine and spirits companies in the world... and one of them French, as well. They both brooded for a moment, slightly less pleased with each other's company than they'd expected.

"I don't think you're doing Hidan any good, you know," Sasori said suddenly, nursing his whisky. "You let him get away with too much. He knows he can do whatever he likes, and no matter what you might say, you always end up backing him up and giving him what he wants."

"Sounds rather nice..." Kakuzu mused, swirling his glass and watching intently as a miniature whirlpool developed, leaning one elbow on the bar.

"But my point is that it's not 'rather nice', Kakuzu, it's you becoming a besotted old man, letting a pretty kid take advantage of you in a way that's ultimately damaging to him as well because it allows him to continue his hedonistic sado-masochistic lifestyle without any consideration at all for the consequences."

Kakuzu paused to make sure had Sasori talked himself out before attempting to reply. He ate a cashew nut, took a small sip of his drink and considered. "Well, I'd rather that he felt comfortable enough around me to do what he needs to do." He paused, looking calmly at Sasori. "Rather than letting it all boil up so that it happens when there's no-one around to take care of the fall-out."

"Well, what happens when _you're_ not around to take care of the fall-out, Kakuzu? You're fifteen years older than him, for one thing!"

"Well? What of it? You're nearly fifteen years older than your little boy-toy."

Sasori seethed quietly as Kakuzu chuckled. "That's beside the point." he said irritably. "Deidara doesn't lean on me like a third fucking leg!"

Kakuzu chuckled again. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he murmured. "But, in any case, I lead a very healthy lifestyle, I don't think I need have any fears for my longevity. Hidan, on the other hand, won't even look a vegetable in the face... I wouldn't necessarily put my money on him as the last one standing..."

"Well, you encourage that! You _enable_ that! Ahh!" Sasori put his glass down on the bar with a firm clink. "I thought at first you were going to be a steadying influence on him. But all you're doing is creating a safe arena for him to run wild in as much as he likes. And it's not safe in the long run! What are you going to do when you've got a middle-aged, anaemic, diabetic alcoholic on your hands instead a charming capricious kid? Because you'll have created that!"

Kakuzu had tried not to laugh, but once he started, he couldn't stop. "You worry too much, Sasori," he said finally, wiping away tears of mirth. "You underestimate Hidan. He's his own man, and that's why I let him 'get away with everything', as you put it. Who am I to tell him what to do? He's got to find his own way. But I am here for him, when he needs me, and I hope he continues to need me, because, well, I like having him around." He chuckled mirthlessly. "But really, Sasori, I've known him about a week! Don't you think you're moving us a little fast?"

"I can see where this is going," Sasori replied darkly. "I've never seen you click with _anyone_ like you do with Hidan. You know it's true."

"Then why the hell are you trying to warn me off him?" Kakuzu drained the rest of his whisky, relishing the peaty burn as it went down.

"Tch," tutted Sasori irritably. "You're _deliberately_ missing the point! Just like you always do! I really don't know why I bother, sometimes!"

"Neither do I, old friend, neither do I," replied Kakuzu urbanely, winding him up even further. "Do me a favour, and let me work this one out for myself..."

He put his glass down, empty now. "I'm going to wander down and see how they're getting on," he said. "Maybe take Hidan out for some dinner - I imagine that perhaps you'd prefer we went our separate ways tonight..."

"Well, I don't make any promises about keeping my temper, otherwise," Sasori replied. "Dealing with Hidan takes more patience than I have... though I have to admit, not professionally - deal with him as a model, and I'm fine. But socially... I'd rather not have to, to be frank..."

"Sure," said Kakuzu. He didn't mind. Sasori was an odd prickly bastard, but he suspected that he was fonder of Hidan than he'd let on. Leaving him at the bar, he made his way out through reception and into the street, and started walking briskly in the direction of the gallery. He wasn't sure why, but he suddenly had an odd feeling that he should check up on Hidan. Maybe it was his medical training subconsciously reasserting itself - after all, it seemed to good to be true that Hidan's little blood-letting stunt should have no consequences other than a a bit of dizziness straight afterwards.

* * *

He found Hidan and Deidara not far from the gallery, and it was a good thing he'd come out to meet them, because Hidan was leaning against the wall, obviously not in a good state, and Deidara was trying rather ineffectually to get him moving again. He hung back a moment, taking stock of the situation.

"Lean on me, un," Deidara was saying encouragingly. "Come on, Hidan, we've got to get you back, man, un?"

"I'm too fucking heavy for you, Dei," Hidan murmured, sliding down the wall and squatting disconsolately at its base, leaning his head back against the stones. "Give me a minute, yeah? I'll be fine." He shut his eyes.

Deidara looked down at him desperately. How was he ever to get him to his feet again? He knew what Hidan was like - giving him 'a minute' was more than likely to end up with Hidan going to sleep and remaining asleep for the next twelve hours. He got out his phone. "I'm going to call Kakuzu," he said.

"No!" said Hidan, making a surprisingly swift grab for the phone, and succeeding in getting a hold on it, though not able to wrest it entirely from Deidara's grip. "No! Dei! Don't do that!"

In the shadows, Kakuzu's heart melted. Hidan was so obstinately independent and yet so _bad_ at taking care of himself. He strode over to them. "It's OK, Deidara," he said quietly. "I'll take care of him from here. I rather thought this might happen..."

He squatted in front of Hidan and took his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, then tilted his face up so he could look into his eyes. "You're not dizzy?" he asked, "Not feeling nauseous? Any headache?"

"No," Hidan mumbled, trying to avoid his eyes. "Just so tired, man..."

"OK," said Kakuzu. "That's good." He pulled Hidan's right arm over his shoulder and stood up, placing an arm firmly around his waist. "Let's get you to bed," he murmured. "You don't have to do anything except behave yourself and let me take care of things."

"OK, Kakuzu, OK," Hidan agreed in a rather muffled voice against his shoulder. He was just too tired to resist anymore.

Kakuzu hitched him a little higher, grasping his arm firmly just below the elbow. Really, it would've been easier just to carry him, but he didn't want to attract more attention than was inevitable. Deidara hovered uselessly at his side, and Kakuzu said, slightly irritably, "Run along, Deidara, I got this. Go and distract Sasori. He'll never let me hear the end of it if he sees this..."

"OK, un, if you're sure..." Deidara looked more than a little relieved and set off swiftly towards the hotel.

Following more sedately, Kakuzu steered Hidan gently through the steep streets. The weight didn't really bother him too much, but he was a little concerned at the image they must present. Well, couldn't be helped. Kakuzu set his features to impassive and ignored the stares they received.

By the time they were through reception and in the lift, Hidan was all but asleep. Kakuzu leant against the lift wall and held him loosely against him, his head tucked into his shoulder. He rested his chin on top of Hidan's head. Hidan made a sleepy murmur and put his arms around Kakuzu, burrowing his face deeper into the crook of Kakuzu's neck. His breathing tickled, but Kakuzu was a disciplined man. And anyway, not particularly ticklish. It was nice, he had to confess, holding Hidan like this, and Hidan so quiet and peaceful. He tightened his hold on him very slightly, gripping the wrist of his right hand with his left to make a strong circle around him.

The lift reached their floor, and the doors opened. The corridor was deserted. "Hey," whispered Kakuzu. "Up for a bit more walking?"

"Le's stay here," Hidan murmured back, not opening his eyes.

"Can't do that, sweetheart." The endearment slipped accidentally, but just so naturally, and Kakuzu rather guiltily hoped Hidan hadn't noticed. He manoeuvred him into the corridor, then shifted his grip. "Hold on tight," he said, and picked Hidan up, cradling his head against his chest, his other arm under his knees. Hidan wound an arm around his neck. It was a lot easier than on Saturday night, when Hidan had been totally asleep and very floppy. And naked. And there'd been a lot of stairs. This was nothing. Kakuzu supposed years of solitary lunchtimes in the gym must have paid off. He extracted Hidan's key from his pocket and balanced him against the doorframe as he opened the door. Kicking it shut behind him, he laid Hidan on the bed, where he immediately rolled over and pulled the covers over himself. Kakuzu unrolled him and took his shoes off. They were leather, but they fastened with velcro straps, and had little patent details... To Kakuzu they seemed like a hybrid between trainers and what he thought of as real shoes. They made him laugh, they seemed so very Hidan. He noticed as he put them neatly on the floor that they were Gucci.

He sat on the bed next to Hidan, and wondered whether he ought to undress him completely, or whether he'd want to get up in an hour or so for some supper. He looked at his watch. It might be better to keep him in bed for the rest of the evening, get him something from Room Service a bit later. He undid Hidan's trousers and eased them off him. Hidan helpfully - if semi-consciously - raised up his pelvis a little, bringing a little smile to Kakuzu's lips. Then he unbuttoned his shirt, but left that on. He unbuttoned the cuffs so they wouldn't chafe his wrists. He peeled his socks off. Hidan had nice feet... a lot smaller than Kakuzu's... smaller in proportion, not just because Hidan was smaller.

Kakuzu covered him back up, and sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting gently on Hidan's thigh. It was just so _easy_ to be nice to him when he was feeling low, or if he was hurt or tired. Or off his face... It concerned Kakuzu a bit. It didn't quite seem like a healthy basis for a relationship. Perhaps Sasori had a point...

Kakuzu repositioned himself so that he could lean again the wall, next to Hidan's head, and shut his eyes for a moment. Sasori _does not_ have a point, he told himself sternly. The thing is; you haven't been in a relationship for years, you've lost touch with how to be intimate with anyone. You're probably lucky Hidan _does_ have this vulnerable side, because it lets you in. If he was always so cocky and confident as he is in the day, you probably wouldn't have the courage to touch even him. He's so beautiful. So young, and successful and beautiful.

Despite his confidence and assurance, there was a side of Kakuzu that was deeply private and shy. He hadn't let anyone touch him emotionally for years. Now, everything seemed to be touching him. Even old friends with whom he thought he was on a totally comfortable footing were affecting him strangely at the moment. Sasori and Deidara - even Konan had moved him strangely with her dilemma of a love affair. He felt like just the proximity of Hidan was peeling his comfortable shell off him. No - more than that. The first dose of Hidan he'd had, just seeing his face on that card, it had opened him out - exposed him to the world again, with all its possibilities for mockery and pain.

Opening his eyes again, he smoothed Hidan's hair back off his forehead, then got up and walked over to the window. He found himself looking at the setting sun, going down over Edinburgh Castle, bathing the building in pinkish orange light. It was strangely beautiful, though it wasn't really an elegant building. It was impressive - huge and shapeless. Kakuzu ran his hand over his jaw. He needed a shave. He felt the faint bumps of the scars that ran along parallel to his jawline - barely visible these days. They were a relic from a violent incident during his time on A&E as a house surgeon. He remembered being wheeled into theatre and knowing everyone, and though they'd sent him straight into plastics, wishing helplessly there was some way he could do the job himself. No-one was better at that kind of job than Kakuzu. Several plastic surgeons had said he was wasted on heart surgery, but - there you are - that was what had fascinated him. Perhaps if he'd gone into plastics he'd still be a surgeon now. Much less chance of people dying on you there...

He turned back to Hidan, knowing that he really ought to check those wounds. He sat down beside him again, and carefully unwrapped the bandages. The right had closed up nicely. Kakuzu made sure it was properly clean, and bandaged it up again. Then he moved around to the other side of the bed and turned his attention to Hidan's left wrist. He had a bad feeling about this. He should have checked it out earlier. There was a dark stain seeping through the bandage, and that must've happened in the last hour or so, because Kakuzu had given him a superficial check over before he left him at the gallery.

Very carefully, he unwound the bandage. Yes, the wound had reopened. It must have been hurting quite a lot, probably throbbing with a dull ache with sharper pain every time he moved it... Kakuzu should never have trusted him not to move it. It was probably dealing with the pain that had so exhausted him.

Given where the injury was, and given that it was excitable hyperactive Hidan he was dealing with, Kakuzu resigned himself to the fact that stitches were necessary. And while proper procedure would probably mean taking him to hospital, Kakuzu was going to do it himself, here. He had everything necessary, except, of course, an anaesthetist. But Hidan was deeply asleep, and it was only going to take three or four... And Kakuzu had always been very quick.

He got out his one of his finest surgical needles - this was a delicate area. He decided it wasn't necessary to stitch Hidan up in two layers - the wound was clean and he hadn't cut through the vein.

Hidan's eyes fluttered open as soon as the needle touched his skin. "Ouch, man," he murmured sleepily. "What the fuck?"

"Ssh," said Kakuzu, carrying on.

Hidan opened his eyes wider and craned his head forward to look at what Kakuzu was doing. "Oi oi oi!" he protested blearily, "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Fucking stop it! Get that away from me!"

"It needs to be done," Kakuzu replied - quietly, imperturbably.

"Owww!" Hidan screamed as the needle pierced his skin. He tried to snatch his wrist away, but Kakuzu saw what he was up to and gripped it tight.

"Settle down, Hidan," he said, sighing. "Don't make me tie you up..." It really wasn't making it any easier, having to restrain Hidan at the time as stitching him up.

Hidan had gone a bit white at the sight of the needle pulling through his skin. He let his head fall back onto the pillow with a flop. "That's fucking grim," he murmured, and Kakuzu thought he might behave - if just through lack of energy - but he was just as bad with the second stitch. Kakuzu growled with irritation.

"Do you want me to take you to hospital?" he said impatiently. "We'd probably have to sit in A&E for about eight hours..."

"No!" Hidan whined. "That would fucking suck, man. I don't need to go to hospital!"

"No, you don't - not if you let me do this." Kakuzu was firm. "It's nearly done. Just be good and keep still, and you won't have to worry about it anymore. OK?"

"O_kay_!" Hidan spat sulkily.

"Good." Kakuzu went back to work. Hidan hissed and winced and moaned and complained, but he kept still. Kakuzu put in five stitches for good measure, then swabbed the wound clean and covered it up again. He wouldn't put it past Hidan to worry at the stitches if they itched... He had a fleeting image of him in the sort of conical collar vets used to stop animals biting at their wounds and smirked. Maybe he should just get Hidan a collar and lead...


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Sorry to make you wait so long - this chapter somehow became a mammoth one... Kakuzu and Hidan have some fluffy time - but don't worry, it doesn't last long! Hopefully I can get them all back to London for the next chapter - I'm so tired of Edinburgh now! As usual, I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please review!**

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* * *

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After an irritating day of meetings with Scottish Arts Council people and a handful of even more irritating potential private sponsors, Kakuzu was in serious need of a relaxing evening. It had been so incredibly frustrating that he was really obliged to take a back seat throughout most of the negotiations, particularly since he was sure that Konan wouldn't have. But he simply didn't have the information at his fingertips that he needed, and indeed, only had the most basic overview of what Akatsuki Gallery's expansion to Edinburgh was supposed to achieve. Only Sasori was in the least prepared - Deidara and Hidan believing it was possible to take an off the cuff approach to this sort of thing - and Sasori would keep banging on about the reprehensibly casual attitude of the younger generation in a way that wasn't at all calculated to appeal to a funding officer whose primary concern was whether Akatsuki Edinburgh could be considered educational.

Kakuzu ended up sticking his oar a good deal more than he really felt he had the right to, and he hoped he hadn't set in motion anything that Konan and Pein hadn't intended. But he was so angry with Konan for dumping him in like this without so much as a business plan to look through that he found, upon reflection, that he didn't care very much. They left the last appointment more than a little demoralised, and with Sasori once again barely on speaking terms with Hidan.

It was late, although it was still light, and Hidan and Deidara were hungry. Diving through the revolving glass doors, they seemed to be full of happy plans of where to go for supper, but Sasori, following at a more sedate pace with Kakuzu, had other ideas.

"Look!" he said, catching hold of Kakuzu's sleeve as he emerged from the door, having been lying in wait for him, "I don't think I can take Hidan's company tonight - I really don't! After everything he's done today, I just don't think I can stay civil. So Deidara and I are going to head off by ourselves - I'm sorry, Kakuzu."

"That's fine by me," said Kakuzu evenly. Tonight, he _did_ find this attitude of Sasori's irritating. He was sure it stemmed from his disapproval of their relationship as a whole. But he wasn't going to give Sasori the satisfaction of showing his annoyance, or, indeed, of indicating that he'd heard anything but the last sentence. He didn't in the least mind the opportunity of taking Hidan off somewhere. They'd go somewhere low-key and intimate, he decided. Have the kind of evening they should've had last Wednesday.

* * *

But by the time they reached a nice looking little Italian restaurant and were eating lasagne next to an artful-looking potted vine, Kakuzu felt lost. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't reach out. Not even after the incident on the train and all its consequences, or after everything he and Hidan had done last weekend. Somehow, last Saturday had seemed to be in its own charmed world. Now, he could barely make himself touch Hidan's arm to get his attention. He felt paralysed.

It was easy, oh, _so_ easy, if Hidan was hurt, if he needed help. Then, Kakuzu could hold him, support him, bathe his face, feel his pulse, and that could easily lead into deeper intimacy. But he needed that excuse. He suspected that he could quite easily treat Hidan with violence, and touch him that way - in fact, he felt sure that a rape scenario would suit him perfectly. But that must not be allowed to happen. In fact, Hidan would probably be more than up for some BDSM, but Kakuzu knew that if he allowed himself to slip into that so soon, he might never achieve real intimacy. He didn't quite know what to do. Even if Hidan flung himself into his arms, he'd probably just awkwardly hold him, maybe run a hand through his hair, but he wouldn't truly reciprocate.

_But at the weekend, it worked_, a small voice protested in his brain. But then he reminded himself that at the moment he'd kissed him, Hidan had been actually trembling - _trembling_ - with fear, terrified of the dogs, and more than a little unsure of Kakuzu's feelings towards him. He stole a glance at him. He was probably even more unsure now, poor kid. And of course, the next morning, finding him wandering around his house shirtless and barefoot, he'd been like Kakuzu's property - Kakuzu had been able to imagine him as his resident sex slave or, again, his deeply indulged and wayward pet, confined to the house, denied proper clothes so he could never escape... there'd been an edge of vulnerability to him even then, a helplessness and reticence...

Goodness, if Hidan hadn't taken his hand in the bar earlier that evening, they'd probably never have made it back to Kakuzu's at all. He suddenly felt pathetic. He was a successful businessman with a six figure salary! Why couldn't he manage something as simple as an ordinary relationship.

Hidan finished the last bite of his main course, gulped down half a glass of wine in one, and looked at Kakuzu across the table. He brushed his foot against his calf. Then for a moment he wondered if he'd been playing footsie with the table leg instead, because Kakuzu's face remained absolutely immobile. But no… He felt again… There was definitely a shoe on the end. Kakuzu didn't move away - and perhaps there was even the smallest of small smiles on his face - did that mean he was pleased? _Respond! Respond! _screamed Hidan's mind, but that seemed to be asking too much. Kakuzu just accepted. Luckily he seemed to have the capacity of a giant natural sponge, and he didn't push Hidan away, and he didn't seem put out, but... Hidan was beginning to wonder. Wouldn't he reciprocate? Or couldn't he? Was he one of those repressed types who genuinely _couldn't_ express emotion? And yet, last weekend... Hidan wondered if perhaps it would help if they were alone - and not alone in public, either - completely alone. He smiled across the table at Kakuzu, and he tried to look understanding and reassuring and _patient_ - but he had no idea if it came out like that, because, to be honest, it wasn't an expression he'd ever tried to make before. He began to pick nervously at the the bandages on his wrist.

Hidan seemed to be smiling provocatively at him, with a sort of smug puppy-eyed edge to it... Kakuzu was torn between amusement and despair. How long would Hidan keep smiling at him, if he got no response. Then he noticed his hands. Hidan didn't seem to be aware of what he was doing, and probably didn't even recognise the tension he was betraying, but it went straight to Kakuzu's heart. How could he sit here so wooden, letting Hidan wind himself up, feeling foolish and unloved? Feeling that nice little foot that he'd admired last night slide against his leg, liberated somehow from its ridiculous Gucci shoe, and not being able to answer in kind. It was more than pathetic, and with an effort he got a grip on himself.

"Gently with that," he said, catching hold of Hidan's damaged wrist. "You'll open it up again if you're not careful." He laid it on the table between them, aligning Hidan's hand so that there was no torsion on the wrist at all. "Maybe you'd better give me the other as well..."

Hidan made a sulky face, but laid his other hand on the table. Kakuzu put his two hands together and held them firmly in place with one of his own. He was well aware that he was cheating again - he'd identified Hidan's last remaining point of weakness and fixated both their attentions on it - not to mention giving the poor kid an entirely new insecurity with his inexplicable coldness. But it was a hell of a lot better than no connection at all. "That's better," he said. "Now I can relax..." He smiled, very slightly.

"What, because I can't do myself any more harm, or because you're holding my hand?" asked Hidan, teasingly, but also slightly challengingly.

Kakuzu hesitated a moment, looking down at the tablecloth while about a dozen noncommittal answers offered themselves up for his consideration. Then he looked back at Hidan, and could see him expecting them. "Well, I think probably because I'm holding your hand..." he admitted, smiling a little ruefully. "But you are trouble, you know, and it's quite nice to feel I have you slightly restrained."

"I _should_ fucking know it," Hidan replied. "Everyone's called me fucking trouble all my life..." His tone was light, but the slight curl of his lip told Kakuzu there was a deep well of grievance here somewhere. Perhaps it was the fact that he was holding Hidan's hands, or the intimate atmosphere of the restaurant, or maybe just that they were finally relaxing together after a rather trying day, but Kakuzu found it terribly easy to slip in to that feeling of precarious tenderness for Hidan now. That heart wrenching feeling of needing to hold onto him and protect him.

Or course, he didn't, just stroked the back of his hand infinitesimally with his thumb. "Who called you that?" he asked. He had a vision of a miniature Hidan scooting round Sainsburys riding a trolley, destroying displays, running down old ladies; in constant danger of braining himself in avalanches of falling catfood tins while a harried mother chased hopelessly after him.

"Oh, all my fucking aunts and cousins and my half sisters, and I guess my mum when she could fucking be bothered," Hidan replied. "I grew up in Southend on Sea," he said, half ashamed, as if admitting a guilty secret. "And I was a fucking bad kid. Seriously, I was lucky I didn't get fucking taken into care!" He paused, looking down at the artful bit of trellis next to their table, and Kakuzu was sure he'd've been picking at that too, if he hadn't got hold of his hands.

"Forget care; I was lucky not to end up in juvenile detention," he continued. "I mean, seriously, Southend's a fucking hole; sure, it's not London, but it can be just as fucking rough as Elephant and Castle or Camden. Or these fucking suburbs, Catford, Croydon, fucking _Walthamstow_, it's where the fucking _stabbings_ happen, man; it's where you get fucking _gun_ crime. And, seriously, I was fucking about out on the streets most of the time from when I fucking learnt to _walk_."

So maybe his Sainsburys vision was a little too middle class. Kakuzu adjusted it to Iceland, complete with a Croydon-face-lifted sister with a double decker pushchair.

"It's un-fucking-believable _now_, isn't it," said Hidan, suddenly giggling. "I mean, sitting here in fucking Edinburgh, in a poncy fucking _trattoria_, holding hands with a _banker_..."

Kakuzu looked down to hide his smile. "You don't _sound_ very Southend," he ventured.

"No," Hidan agreed. "But I can. Most people are fucking faking the way they speak, anyway. I just want to forget I ever lived in that fucking shithole. It still slips out sometimes, though..."

* * *

On the other side of the door, Shikamaru Nara was sitting with Asuma, Kotetsu and Isumo, and listening to Hidan and Kakuzu's conversation rather than taking part in his own. He'd reached that point in the evening where it just seemed like too much trouble to engage. The four of them were in Edinburgh to scope out a venue for the festival, but Shikamaru didn't expect to be showing anything. He'd decided he'd rather be a critic than an artist, and had made a move into journalism after finishing his degree at St Martin's. He was just here to help Asuma out. Asuma had a lot on his plate right now, what with his friend Chiriku suddenly pulling out of the Edinburgh show for 'personal reasons'. Asuma was evading his questions about those, though it was almost certainly something to do with a major collector selling off a vast amount of his work, setting off an avalanche of smaller collectors trying to do the same. And then there was everything going on in Asuma's own private life...

Now, though, the conversation at the other table was getting too interesting not to share. Particularly to someone who had recently taken over writing the weekly gossip page for the Arts section of a major newspaper. He leaned forward and murmured to Asuma, "That's Kakuzu Taki and Hidan Yu over there. I'd heard some rumours they were together, but God, there can't really be any doubt, can there?"

Asuma glanced quickly over and grimaced slightly. "No," he agreed. "Actually I was at Akatsuki Gallery when they hooked up last week - it was pretty nauseating then as well." He paused, giving them another sidelong glance. "Did Hidan just say he was from _Southend_?" he asked incredulously, chuckling rather mirthlessly. "He's always said publicly that he was London born and bred!" But suddenly he was frowning. "Joking aside, it's since then that Kakuzu's sold all Chiriku's work!" he said tensely. "I'll fucking bet Hidan had something to do with it - Chiriku had a run-in with him last year at a Private View, _and_ later on in his own studio building! I'm going to fucking say something!"

He started to get up, and Shikamaru pulled him back. "Is now really the time?" he asked. "Kakuzu owns a lot of your work as well and you can't exactly afford to lose _your _representation with Kurenai-"

He shut up fairly abruptly at the look Asuma gave him. "It's not like you to be so rash," he murmured, all the same. "What's got into you?"

"Those two are the reason Chiriku's gallery dropped him! And they're just sitting there canoodling!" said Asuma rather agitatedly and seeming to Shikamaru like he really might have had a little too much to drink. "If we don't take a stand," he continued dogmatically, "then guys like these are going to be walking all over us. We can't _afford_ to get dependent on the big collectors. That's what the project space is all about."

"Okay, well, I think it's pretty tiresome, but I'm there to back you up, of course," said Shikamaru wearily, regretting now that he'd pointed them out. Kotetsu and Izumo were already nodding enthusiastically. They were never going to disagree with anything Asuma said. And to be honest, they weren't really in a position to be made or broken by dealers like Kakuzu. The project space was far more their level, though of course he'd never say that to their faces… "Can I just finish my risotto before you get us kicked out?" he asked wearily. He had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

Hidan leant back in his chair, looking at Kakuzu with his head on one side. "It was fucking _easy_, actually, fitting in with the art student crowd," he told him. "I just sort of wandered in there. I was seventeen, I wasn't really doing anything, I was fucking hacked off with the pointless, turf war shit in the suburbs - I mean, what kind of a reason is that for fucking fighting! I'd moved into a bedsit in Walworth by that time, and I just wandered into Camberwell one day - they needed a model, so I stripped off and, bingo, I had a job."

"I've heard you're quite special as a model..."

"Yeah, man, people say. I mean, I don't mind giving anything a try, and I don't have a problem holding poses, and I'm quite good at coming up with good ones, I guess, I mean, if they don't have specific ideas. I don't know, man, I just kind of like it, I guess. You don't have to do anything, and everyone's looking at you with this weird detached intensity, and they point heaters at you and bring you cups of tea... It's peaceful. _Not_ like fucking fashion."

"But fashion's where the money is, of course..."

"_Fuck_ the money, man, I don't want to fucking do it anymore. I swear, I am not getting into fucking catwalk stuff. That stuff sucks balls, man. Photoshoots, OK, I can take that, ad campaigns, OK, but I am not prancing around on a fucking runway. Anyway, they want fucking anorexic fourteen-year-olds for that, now. I'd have to do fucking underwear modelling, and that's fucking degrading shit. I want to do more stuff like I did with Dei! I'm _fucking_ excited about doing a live piece with him. That is going to be totally fucking awesome, man, seriously!"

Kakuzu considered, taking a sip of his wine. Fashion was lucrative, and obviously Hidan should keep a foothold there, but equally, it could do no harm if he had a reputation for picking and choosing his jobs... nothing was worse for a model financially than appearing in the Boden catalogue, or in an M&S campaign... though it didn't seem to have destroyed the credibility of Erin O'Connor, it was true. "Well, no harm in being particular," he said. He refilled Hidan's glass, still keeping hold of his hands.

"Hey!" said Hidan. "How am I supposed to drink that? You're doing it to tease me, aren't you?" But for the first time, he was able to keep the undercurrent of actual grievance out of his voice. He could feel that Kakuzu was truly relaxing now, too, and he leant forward, shifting his hands around so that he was holding Kakuzu's, rather than Kakuzu holding his.

"I like you Kakuzu," he said. "You know that." He tilted his head to one side and looked at Kakuzu quizzically. "So, am I still your sweetheart today?"

He looked a little over-innocent, but there _was_ an undercurrent of sincerity to his words, and Kakuzu almost blushed. "I wasn't sure you'd even remember that," he said. "But yes."

"What about yesterday? On the train?" Hidan's tone was slightly challenging, slightly hopeful.

Kakuzu's heart melted entirely. "Especially on the train," he said. He got up. They'd managed to drink almost the entire bottle of wine, plus, for Kakuzu, several mineral waters. It was making a trip to the gents a necessity. "Back in a moment," he murmured. He thought he might as well settle up at the same time. He was looking forward to getting Hidan back to the hotel...

* * *

Hidan poured himself the last of the wine and, entirely unabashed, stared around for something to amuse himself with until Kakuzu came back. The restaurant was still quite busy inside, but the few other people who had opted for the outside tables this early in the year had mostly gone now. There was only one other table occupied - just on the other side of their potted vine trellis arrangement. It caught his eye as it was occupied by four blokes, and they were all looking at him. In perhaps a not particularly friendly way, either.

Did they recognise him, he wondered? The first of the Comme des Garçons ad series was going out on billboards this weekend... But they looked far too hostile to be interested members of the public who'd spotted a celebrity. Were they just rabidly homophobic? He and Kakuzu had been being rather obvious, it had to be said... But actually, now he thought about it, he recognised one of them. Bearded fellow, big nose... He'd seem him around on the PV circuit; he was an artist of some kind.

All this time, he'd been staring back at them with just as much hostility as they were offering him, and finally, the bearded bloke got up and came over to him.

"And what the fuck do you want?" said Hidan, remaining seated in a nonchalant pose, slightly tipped back in his chair. "Do I know you?"

"Sarutobi Asuma," said beardy tersely, as though Hidan ought to have known. Which perhaps he should… the guy _was_ fairly well known. "Did you know that last week your boyfriend sold his entire collection of work by an artist named Chiriku, and his gallery's dropped him as a result?"

Hidan hadn't known that, but he knew Chiriku. They'd clashed several times, as Chiriku was a religious artist - a fucking Christian fundamentalist in Hidan's opinion - and they didn't really see eye to eye. Their ideologies opposed each other on pretty much every point, and to make matters worse, the fucker had a studio in the same building as Deidara… Anyway, his kind of shit was going right out of fashion, and he wasn't surprised if Kakuzu had decided to make a quick buck out of it. "The Stanley Spencer of the Noughties?" he said mockingly, quirking an eyebrow. It was a nickname Chiriku was known to particularly dislike, probably preferring to think of himself as a latter day Fra Angelico. "I'm surprised Kakuzu had any in the first place. Why?"

"It's no secret that you and Chiriku didn't get along," said Asuma. "Did you ask him to sell them?"

"No." said Hidan insolently. "I expect he sold them because he finally realised they were shit."

He realised a little late that the other three had come around him: two fairly tough-looking younger guys - Asuma's goons, he thought dismissively - and one little sardonic-looking one. Suddenly the little one had his arm in a surprisingly tenacious grip. He hadn't been expecting an attack from that quarter and found himself jerked to his feet and pushed up against a wrought-iron gate just out of the pool of light spilling out from the restaurant's windows. As he made to get the guy off him the other two rushed to his defence, one hitting him in the stomach, the other going for a kidney shot.

"Ouch, man," he said languidly, letting the pain flood slowly through him, trying to relish it rather than let it overcome him, "that _fucking_ hurt, you know? You people are so fucking _rude_!"

The goons hissed like scalded cats at his cool reaction to an attack that ought to have had him doubled over and gasping for breath. They drew back with expressions of dismay, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the face and a knee to the groin respectively. They still kept hold of his arms though, and Asuma stepped forward, to Hidan's surprise actually holding a knife. He hadn't really thought the guy would have it in him, but there it was, large as life and twice as shiny. _This is really hotting up_, he thought languidly. Somehow, he wasn't even worried. He didn't truly believe Asuma would really cut him, and anyway, there was a voice at the back of his head saying, _if he slices me up bad enough, I won't have to do any more fashion modelling… Even if Kakuzu does think it's lucrative._

"I don't think you can even comprehend the value of a man like Chiriku," said Asuma with a solemnity that seemed somehow hilarious to Hidan. He felt almost as relaxed as when he was in the middle of a ritual now - like he'd managed to get high on pure violence. _Is this some kind of stag do?_ he wondered irrelevantly, the thought just popping into his head. Asuma somehow had the air of somebody enjoying his last moments of freedom. And actually seemed just a little the worse for wear… He was talking again, and Hidan had to make a real effort to concentrate enough to take in what he was saying. He smirked with amusement - Asuma looked like a fish out of water when you zoned out the actual sound coming from his mouth…

"… but you can watch your filthy mouth when you speak about him," he was saying, when Hidan finally managed to force himself to pay attention, and his voice was getting angrier by the second. "I'm not making allowances for your limitations! I don't know what you think is funny right now, but if you think it's a bit of a laugh to finish someone's career - how about I finish yours?" He raised the knife so that it glinted in the light from the streetlamp. "You might need to be even more special than your dealer boyfriend thinks you are to carry _this_ off!" He spoke through gritted teeth, as though holding back a weight of emotion.

* * *

Kakuzu had stepped through the restaurant doors just as Asuma pulled his knife on Hidan. He looked at the vacant table for less than a second before taking in the situation in the shadows behind it. He even had the presence of mind to take a photo on his iPhone.

He didn't really feel the need for any cheesy lines - he just appeared behind Shikamaru and took him down silently with a blow to the small of the back, leaving him writhing on the pavement. He caught Kotetsu and Izumo by their throats as they turned to see what had happened, making them loosen their grip on Hidan, and it was all the time Hidan needed to force Asuma's knife hand upwards to slash across his own face.

Asuma dropped to his knees as a quite incredible amount of blood sluiced down his cheek, immediately soaking his collar, the red stain then spreading, spreading, spreading over the expanse of his shirtfront, the colour of poppy petals.

Hidan gazed, mesmerised, licking a trickle of blood from the back of his own hand. It felt better than he could possibly have imagined. "Hidan!" he heard Kakuzu's insistent voice in his ear. "Hidan. We need to go now."

"Hey, just let me just finish this," he pleaded, not feeling the urgency at all despite recognising it in Kakuzu's voice.

Kakuzu's voice became stern. "Hidan. Now."

Hidan gave in and let himself be guided by Kakuzu's hand under his elbow, by his little steering touches in the small of his back, still so keyed up, so excited by the sight-smell-taste of Asuma's blood. He could hear the silly, terrified voices of his friends behind them, "Asuma!"… "Asuma!" …"Call an ambulance!"… "Someone dial 999!"

Once they were round the corner, that was what Kakuzu did. "I'd like to report an incident," he said calmly. "Yes, an assault. My partner was attacked physically and verbally and threatened with a knife. We suspect it might have been homophobically motivated." … "I think that one of the four may be injured - when my friend threw his arm up to protect himself, the blade may have make contact with him." … "I'm not certain - we left the scene as soon I'd managed to free him from them." … "No, he's not badly hurt."… Hidan barely seemed to register what he was doing, for which he was grateful. He wasn't at all sure he'd appreciate the necessity.

No-one seemed to be following them. It was late and the off-season; once they were off the High Street it was quiet and almost deserted. Kakuzu didn't take his hand from Hidan's arm as they made the five minute journey back to the hotel, and Hidan was in too much of a blood fuelled haze to resist his urging. He still had his fingers at Hidan's elbow when they reached the door of his hotel room, and he awkwardly turned the key with his left hand so as not to have to let go.

The door closed behind them with a muffled click, and Kakuzu finally let out a sigh of relief. It felt incredibly peaceful - quiet, warm and private. He wondered whether Asuma and his friends would try to press charges. It seemed likely that Asuma would be too scared of counter-accusations to want to involve the police, given that the knife was his and he'd initiated the attack, but there was no way that the hospital would let something like that go unreported…

He stopped thinking about this quite abruptly when he felt Hidan's arms go around his neck, and lips hot and urgent against his own. Hidan was pressing hard against him, and he could feel himself become just as aroused almost instantly. The excitement, the adrenalin, the heady thrill of fear that Kakuzu barely ever felt in his day to day life, they all suddenly merged together and converted into a purer need to fuck than he could ever remember feeling before.

They didn't even make it over to the bed - they crashed onto the floor, fumbling with each other's zips and buckles, then Hidan was face down on the floor, fingernails digging deep into the thick pile of the hotel carpet, Kakuzu thrusting hard into him, and he thought as he just barely managed to hold himself back from coming shamefully early that it was the first time they'd had sex for a week, and it was actually all he'd been wanting to do ever since last Saturday. No wonder they'd been at each other's throats! What the hell had they been thinking?


End file.
